


Both Sides Now

by hollycomb



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Mirror Universe, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov is trapped in the mirrorverse and Mirror!Sulu volunteers to watch his back until he can get home, but Mirror!Sulu isn't a nice guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both Sides Now

**Author's Note:**

> Implied underage non-con is discussed at one point. **This is a disturbing story so please heed all major archive warnings and tags**.

Chekov's sense of orientation is one of his strongest skills, and he knows right away that something is wrong. The ship doesn't smell right, and even the air feels different as he steps down off the platform. The man at the transport console looks like Scotty, but he's got a trim little beard and he's glaring at Chekov as if he wants to kill him.  
  
“What in the bloody fucking hell,” the man mutters as he stands, raising some kind of weapon that looks like a phaser but isn't. Chekov goes for his phaser, knowing he's too late, and when he's struck by the Scotty-impostor's weapon he screams with agony, curling backward and landing hard on the transport platform. He writhes as pain wracks through his body, all of his muscles on fire, even his tongue, his eyes burning. He screams until his voice chokes away, waiting to lose consciousness, but whatever is holding him in its searing beam won't allow him that mercy.  
  
“Get me the Chief of Security!” the man who looks and sounds like Scotty is shouting. “Tell him I've got an intruder locked with my agonizer and I've got no idea where he's come from – do it, now!”  
  
Chekov feels like everything he has inside him is leaking out: his eyes are streaming with tears, his nose is running, saliva pooling on the transport platform as he continues to writhe, feeling like his skin is being torn from him, and he knows it won't be long until he's pissed his pants. When the shrill whine of the pain finally shuts off he moans, waiting for relief to come, his muscles still twisted and burning. He blinks away the stinging moisture in his eyes until he can focus on the man who's standing over him, and for one broken moment he whines with relief.  
  
“Hikaru,” he cries weakly, though by the time he hears himself saying it he knows that this is just as much his friend Hikaru as that bastard who attacked him is Scotty. The man standing over him looks just like Hikaru, except for a coldness in his eyes and a long scar down the left side of his face.  
  
“He knows your name!” Scotty shouts.  
  
“Well,” Hikaru says. “That's interesting.” He bends down and collects Chekov easily, grunting as he throws him over his shoulder. Chekov moans as Hikaru's shoulder jabs into his stomach, a wave of nausea rolling through him. It grows stronger as he realizes that the feeling of relief he's experiencing as Hikaru carries him through the halls of this bizarro-world _Enterprise_ is deceptive. Just because this man looks like someone he knows and trusts, it doesn't mean he won't be hurt again. Right now, he's far too weak to fight back, too destroyed to even speak, and when Hikaru brings him into a stately room decorated with lavish drapes that frame mounted swords, he allows himself to be dumped onto the floor.  
  
Hikaru paces around and watches Chekov curl in on himself, hugging his arms to his chest while his body reels with aftershocks, trying to recover. His eyes are still leaking and his nose is still running. Hikaru laughs as Chekov wipes his face with his sleeve.  
  
“You're kind of a pretty little thing,” he says. “You're lucky that Monty is dickless or his first reaction might not have been to blast the hell out of you with an agonizer. Here.” Hikaru produces a blood red handkerchief with flourish and bends down to wipe at Chekov's eyes and face like he's a child. Chekov allows it, panting his breath, drained of energy and actually quite grateful for the gesture, though his heart is still pounding with fear. The little smirk on Hikaru's face is making him nervous.  
  
“Also lucky he called me first and not the captain, or you'd be chained up with his other slaves.” Hikaru gives a dramatic shudder. “I think that would be a waste. It's true that there are some people in this universe who can serve no better purpose than as one of Kirk's fuck toys, but you – well, you managed to sneak aboard our ship, so maybe you're not just a pretty face. How'd you do it?”  
  
“I don't know where I am,” Chekov says. His voice sounds so weak, and he sobs a little, feeling sorry for himself. “I was beaming up from a planet, up to my ship, but this is not it. Though – though –”  
  
“Though what, little one?” Hikaru asks, helping him to sit up. He's teasing Chekov, smiling at his confusion. Chekov sniffles and wipes his face with the handkerchief again. It wounds his pride, but he's well aware that in some situations being cute can be a powerful defense. He glances around at the impressive arsenal of weapons that has been framed and mounted on the wall of this Hikaru's room, wondering how far his cute routine will really get him here.  
  
“Where I come from – you are there,” Chekov says, batting his wet eyelashes at Hikaru. “You are my friend. And you do not have this.” He gestures to Hikaru's scar, and Hikaru's eyes change, flashing with anger. He grunts and yanks Chekov up from the floor.  
  
“Well, now you're here, and in this universe I've had this scar since before your balls dropped.” He throws Chekov onto the bed, and Chekov lands there with a yelp, his heart thudding as he realizes that he's splayed out helplessly in a way that might appear inviting. He tries to rearrange himself into a more dignified position.  
  
“I could throw you in the brig and let the vultures pick you apart,” Hikaru says. “Or you could make yourself useful to me. In return, I'll protect you from them. So. Which will it be?”  
  
“Please,” Chekov says. He pulls himself up into a sitting position with some difficulty, wincing. “I don't know what's happening. I want to go home, back to my ship.”  
  
“That's probably not going to happen,” Hikaru says, stepping closer to the bed. He's got his hands on his belt in a way that makes Chekov very nervous. “But I'll consider looking into it if you're particularly well-behaved.”  
  
Chekov scowls at him, huffing a little. His friend Hikaru would never look at him like this, like he's a glistening piece of meat that Hikaru is ready to dig his teeth into.  
  
“I think I have no choice,” Chekov says. Hikaru chuckles and reaches down to take Chekov's chin in his hand, tipping his face up until their eyes meet.  
  
“So you are intelligent,” he says. He strokes Chekov's jaw with his thumb, and Chekov thinks of jerking away, but he keeps getting snagged on the fact that this man looks like Hikaru, who would never hurt him.  
  
“Alright,” Hikaru says. “Take off your clothes.”  
  
“What?” Chekov's heart slams.  
  
“I said take. Off. Your clothes.” Hikaru gives Chekov's face a little slap, and it stings his pride more than his skin. “Don't get in the habit of making me repeat myself.”  
  
Hikaru stands back, and when Chekov hesitates, Hikaru grunts and comes forward again. He rips Chekov's shirt off, ignoring his muffled cries of protest, then pushes him onto his side so that he can yank his pants and underwear down, taking his socks and boots with them. Chekov moans and clings to the sheets on the bed, hiding himself, ashamed of the fact that his ass is exposed to the room.  
  
“Please, stop!” Chekov begs, looking back at Hikaru over his shoulder.  
  
“You could have done it yourself, with some dignity,” Hikaru says. He reaches down and slaps Chekov's ass hard, laughing when he shouts in pain. “Let that be a lesson to you. Do as I ask and you can do it your way, comfortably. Don't, and I'll do it mine.”  
  
Chekov hides his burning face and moans into the sheets, which smell of a deep, unfriendly perfume, almost like incense. It's nothing like the perfectly crisp sheets on Hikaru's bed back home, where Chekov has spent many off-shift hours talking and sharing pictures from his PADD, telling Hikaru about Russia. He sobs at the thought of his home country as this cruel Hikaru lifts him from the bed.  
  
“Let me have a look at my new property,” Hikaru says, standing him up. Chekov looks away, ashamed, his lip trembling. The fact that he's been stripped of his clothes can mean only one thing, and Chekov is afraid he'll throw up as Hikaru's eyes rake over his naked body. He's never been with a man before. He's never even considered it, preferring the softer bodies of girls. Now this man is looking at him like his own body is very soft, weak enough to conquer easily. Chekov resolves to escape somehow, as soon as he regains his strength, but after that horrible experience on the transport platform, regaining his strength might take days. His nerves are still frayed from the weapon the man who looked like Scotty used, and just standing upright is making him tremble with exhaustion.  
  
“Not bad,” Hikaru says, running a hand from Chekov's shoulder down to his hip. Chekov winces and flinches away. Hikaru gives his face another little slap, and Chekov glowers at him.  
  
“Don't be petulant,” Hikaru says. “I'm a very good caretaker. Just ask my plants.” He gestures to a row of them across the room, spiny things that look dangerous and lurid flowers that seem to drip with poison. Chekov whines at the thought of his Hikaru's plants: herbs for his tea, aloe that he'll break off for Chekov if he gets a burn down in engineering.  
  
“I'm not a plant,” Chekov says, and Hikaru laughs.  
  
“I don't know about that,” he says. He rubs at Chekov's ear, and Chekov pinches his eyes shut, doing his best to keep still, as if he can disappear that way.  
  
“This looks like a little rosebud to me,” Hikaru says, and Chekov's eyes shoot open when he feels rough fingers pressing against his lips.  
  
“Open,” Hikaru says, his eyes boring into Chekov's, daring him to refuse. Chekov lets out a choppy sigh and decides to pick his battles. Maybe if he sucks this bastard's fingers he'll be absolved from sucking something else. He parts his lips just slightly, but it's enough to allow Hikaru to force his fingers inside, making Chekov gasp as they slide onto his tongue, calloused but clean-tasting. Chekov closes his eyes and breathes through his nose as Hikaru fucks his mouth with two fingers, caressing Chekov's tongue as if he's evaluating its quality.  
  
“Good,” Hikaru says. “Like wet silk. Don't even think about biting.” He keeps moving his fingers in and out, and Chekov opens his eyes to glare at him while he sucks, his hands fisted at his sides. He studies the scar that cuts down Hikaru's otherwise handsome face, and Hikaru seems to notice him looking at it. He shoves his fingers in more roughly, making Chekov choke a little, his eyes watering.  
  
“Is there really some cuddlier version of me in your world?” Hikaru asks. “It doesn't seem like a thing worth lying about.”  
  
Chekov nods, still sucking. Hikaru grins and eases up, the rhythm of his fingers relaxing back into a slow, steady pace. Chekov's mouth is getting very wet, to his great shame.  
  
“Would you let me treat you this way where you come from?” Hikaru asks. Chekov shakes his head.  
  
“Then I suppose you're not at my mercy there, are you?” Hikaru laughs a little, his thumb stroking Chekov's jaw. “Well, you are here, as I guess you've finally realized, since you're sucking me like such a good boy. God, your lips.” He smiles to himself. “I'm a lucky man.”  
  
Chekov whimpers a little, involuntarily, knowing that he's not going to get away with only sucking on fingers. Still, he's a genius, and he can figure a way out of here, he's just got to buy himself some time. He lets his eyes flutter shut and pretends to be enjoying himself as Hikaru continues to violate his mouth at the same maddeningly slow pace.  
  
“Don't patronize me,” Hikaru says, ripping his fingers from Chekov's lips. “I can make you enjoy this, but it's not going to happen that quickly. Come on.” He grabs Chekov's shoulder and pulls him into an adjoining room, which appears to be an opulent bathing chamber. It's much bigger than any of the en suite bathrooms on the _Enterprise_ , and the decorations are lavish, the air thick with that incense smell. There's a large, sunken tub in the middle of the room, and Hikaru shoves Chekov toward it. He turns on the water and begins to undress. Chekov's mind is reeling, and he does the only thing that he can think of that might save him, dropping to his knees and clasping his hands together. Hikaru turns to him, his shirt in his hands, and frowns. He's got scars all over his chest, small but deep.  
  
“Please,” Chekov says. “Please, sir, I did not mean to come here, I did not mean to intrude on your ship. I am only eighteen years old, sir, and I have never been with a man – I, I think it would hurt me very much, sir, very much, I –” He doesn't know how to continue. He's shaking, naked on the floor, staring up at Hikaru, whose face is unreadable.  
  
“You're weak,” Hikaru says. “I'll teach you to get over that.”  
  
Chekov sobs and puts his nose to the floor, terrified. When he first started at the Academy he was only fourteen, and he was almost raped not once but twice in his dormitory, fighting off his attackers with nails and teeth and every ounce of strength he could muster. Both times it happened his assailants were extremely drunk; if they hadn't been, they would have overpowered him easily. Terrified after the first experience and traumatized after the second, Chekov learned how to run. Here, he's got nowhere to run to, no real bearings, and no way to even begin to navigate his way out of danger.  
  
“Stop wibbling,” Hikaru says. He turns on the bath water. “I told you I take good care of my things, and you're mine now. There's nothing to worry about.”  
  
He shuffles around the bathroom, humming to himself, and Chekov bites his trembling lip, daring a look up to see what Hikaru is doing. He's scenting the bathwater. Chekov takes a deep breath and sits up, wiping at his face.  
  
“I'm not weak,” he says. “I'm just – disoriented. And I thought – I thought –”  
  
“You thought I was going to take you there on the floor like an animal? Believe me, there are people on this ship who would. I'm not one of them. Get into the bath.”  
  
Chekov doesn't make Hikaru ask twice. The water is warm, and there are fragrant herbs floating in it, making him think of his Hikaru and his tea. He sits in the center of the tub, the deepest part, and the water comes all the way up to his chin, swirling with thin soap bubbles. Hikaru turns the facet off and slides his pants and underwear down, draping his clothes over the back of a chair near the wall. Chekov averts his eyes, his face growing as hot as the water.  
  
“Let me clean you properly,” Hikaru says, reaching for Chekov as he climbs in. “You're a mess after Monty's agonizer attack.”  
  
“Wh-what did you call that weapon?” Chekov asks, staying put. Hikaru grunts with annoyance and yanks Chekov over to him, against the sloped side of the tub.  
  
“An agonizer,” Hikaru says. He holds Chekov in place with one arm and reaches for the soap with the other. “Fuck, kid, will you ease up with the trembling? You're stressing me out.” Hikaru sighs and reaches into a gold box near the tub. He takes out what looks like a hand-rolled cigarette and a lighter, and Chekov squirms in his grip while he lights it, afraid he's going to be burned.  
  
“You should smoke some of this,” Hikaru says, coughing a little after taking a puff. “It would relax you.”  
  
“What is it?” Chekov asks, though he has no plans to partake.  
  
“Hypnolotus leaf,” Hikaru says. He exhales a long stream of smoke from his nostrils, his eyelids lowering. “I grow it myself.” He offers Chekov the cigarette, and Chekov shakes his head. Hikaru shrugs.  
  
“Suit yourself,” he says, clamping it between his lips and reaching for the soap again. Chekov gasps as Hikaru begins to wash him: neither rough nor gentle, he's efficient, even when he reaches down between Chekov's legs, making Chekov whine with shame as he washes his cock and balls. Hikaru smokes the whole time, grunting instructions, making Chekov stand so he can wash his legs. Chekov shivers in the cool air of the bathroom and actually experiences something akin to comfort when he sinks down into the warm bathwater again. He yelps when Hikaru dumps some water onto his head and begins washing his hair.  
  
“Relax, for fuck's sake,” Hikaru says, his powerful fingers rubbing Chekov's scalp until he feels sore. “Didn't you have a mother, back where you came from?”  
  
“She died when I was born,” Chekov says, the words falling from him before he can consider whether or not he wants this Hikaru to hear them. Hikaru just grunts.  
  
“So you've never been washed in a sink,” he says.  
  
“I think my mother would have been more gentle,” Chekov says. He winces when one of Hikaru's nails scrapes the tender skin on his scalp.  
  
“I'm just trying to be thorough,” Hikaru says, and Chekov can hear his smile. He pouts to himself at the thought that he's amusing his captor, then gasps again when Hikaru dumps water over him without warning, to rinse out the shampoo.  
  
“There,” Hikaru says, stroking his hand through Chekov's wet curls to check for any remaining suds. “Now c'mere. In my lap.”  
  
Chekov whines but lets himself be pulled, and squirms uncomfortably when he finds himself sitting on Hikaru's soft cock. He's surprised that Hikaru doesn't have an erection after what he just did, that he's not getting off on the power, Chekov's helplessness. He lets Hikaru push his head back so that it's resting on his shoulder, and he tries not to think about what's happening, the fact that he's exposed and trapped in the embrace of a naked man.  
  
“Just fucking relax,” Hikaru says, the cigarette bobbing between his lips and dropping ashes down into the water. One of them lands on Chekov's freshly scrubbed chest, and Hikaru brushes it away. He tweaks Chekov's nipple and laughs when he moans in protest.  
  
“Alright,” he says, tapping the same nipple softly with one finger, as if to apologize. “You've had a long day.” He locks his arm around Chekov's waist and then just sits there, spreading his legs a bit wider beneath Chekov's ass, smoking the cigarette while the water sloshes and then stills around them. Chekov sinks down a bit lower, to get his shoulders under the water, his head still on Hikaru's shoulder. He watches the smoke swirl from Hikaru's lips up toward the painted ceiling.  
  
“Sure you don't want a drag?” Hikaru says.  
  
“I'm sure.” Chekov twitches, trying to get comfortable, then goes completely still when he feels Hikaru's cock twitching, too, responding to the friction.  
  
“You're a little neurotic,” Hikaru says. “Maybe everyone is, where you come from.”  
  
“Where I come from, people don't make slaves of each other.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Hikaru says sharply. “If that were true they wouldn't be people. Maybe they're just less honest about it than we are here. Strong people are going to rule the weak one way or another.”  
  
“That philosophy is flawed,” Chekov says. “There is more than one kind of strength. Honoring our differing strengths helps us advance as a society.”  
  
“Sure,” Hikaru says. “But it's all still a power struggle. And I'll honor the fuck out of your strengths if you honor me, rosebud.”  
  
“Do not call me that.”  
  
“But it's such an appropriate nickname,” Hikaru says with a smirk, reaching up to rub Chekov's bottom lip. Chekov flinches and turns his face away, only to end up pressing his nose to Hikaru's neck. Hikaru laughs under his breath and wraps his arm around Chekov's waist again.  
  
“What should I call you?” he asks. His thumb is moving on Chekov's stomach under the water, stroking him. He supposes he should be glad Hikaru hasn't reached for his cock, which is bobbing in the water like a lure.  
  
“Pavel,” he says. “That is my name.”  
  
“Pavel? Aw, it's cute. What does it mean?”  
  
It means 'small,' but there's no way in hell Chekov is going to tell this Hikaru that. He shrugs.  
  
“Nothing, is just a boy's name.”  
  
“A boy. And that's what you are, hmm?” Hikaru leans down to rub his face against Chekov's cheek. “With the softest fucking skin I've ever laid a hand on.” Hikaru's thumb is still moving on Chekov's stomach. Chekov shifts, not appreciating the fact that it's not a wholly unpleasant sensation.  
  
“I'm a man, where I come from,” Chekov says, though he doesn't always feel that way there, either, not with the likes of Kirk and McCoy around. Hikaru always goes out of his way to make Chekov feel like an equal. He thinks of facing him again if – when! – he gets back to the _Enterprise_ , and his heart grows heavy. How can he look at Hikaru the way he once did after this one has treated him like this?  
  
“Have you got slaves of your own in this mythical place?” Hikaru asks, mouthing at Chekov's ear lobe. Chekov squirms and moans a little when Hikaru's arm tightens around his waist. That cigarette has made him high. Chekov thinks of the drunk men in the dormitory at the Academy and his blood turns to ice.  
  
“I told you,” he says. “We don't have slaves where I come from. We believe it's cruel, a violation of rights.”  
  
“Rights.” Hikaru scoffs. He puts out the cigarette and pushes Chekov off of his lap, into the middle of the tub. “Humans invented rights so they could pretend they're better than animals. I haven't seen any real evidence so far.” He climbs out of the tub and dries himself. Chekov sinks down so that the water is up to his chin, enjoying the feeling of being hidden and free of Hikaru's wandering hands. His heartbeat begins to slow a little, and he finds himself studying Hikaru's naked body as soap suds slide down his muscular legs, then looks quickly away.  
  
“You want to march out that door and take your chances with the others on this ship?” Hikaru says. “I'm not stopping you. That's your _right_ , I suppose. But as long as you're enjoying the sanctuary of my rooms, I'll consider you my property.”  
  
Hikaru walks out into the room, leaving Chekov in the bath. Chekov waits for instructions, wanting to get out, eying a fluffy red towel that is sitting on the corner of the bath. He should be thinking about escape, but his body is still wrecked from the torture of that weapon and he knows he wouldn't get far, especially if Hikaru is telling the truth about the others on this vessel, something he intends to investigate as soon as he can. He sighs and climbs out of the tub, making a show of holding the towel over himself as he does, though Hikaru isn't even in the room.  
  
When he's dry, he walks out into the bedroom and finds Hikaru tending to his plants. He ignores Chekov, who stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling more alone than he ever has in his life. No one here is his friend, no matter how this Hikaru tries to convince him that he's on his side.  
  
“Where are my clothes?” Chekov finally asks.  
  
“I got rid of them,” Hikaru says. “Would you like something to wear?”  
  
“Yes, please.” Chekov suspects it's a trick question, and holds the towel around himself tightly. His legs are still shaky, and he wants badly to get into that big bed with the four posters and sleep until he's regained his energy. He wouldn't be entirely opposed to this Hikaru standing guard while he did so, if he's really willing to.  
  
“Here,” Hikaru says, walking to Chekov, holding a little black thing. He rips the towel from Chekov and hands him what appears to be a pair of underwear. Upon closer examination, its more like a leather jock strap. Chekov makes a disbelieving face and Hikaru laughs.  
  
“That's a good starter pair,” Hikaru says. “Nothing too complicated. You can work up to some of the more beautiful things in my collection.”  
  
“Have these been _used_?” Chekov asks, and Hikaru laughs harder, his shoulders bouncing with it. For one perverse moment he reminds Chekov of his own Hikaru, the way he gets when he's laughing at Chekov's off-key singing or some joke about Spock.  
  
“Confession time,” Hikaru says. “You're actually my first slave. Figures that you'd be a rare little rosebud from another universe, because up until now I haven't met anyone I deemed worthy. So, in a way, those were bought for you. Put them on.”  
  
Chekov groans, but he supposes it's better than having his cock swinging free between his legs. The underwear offers no cover for his ass, just a thin strip of leather digging in between his cheeks, making him squirm. He's never worn a thong before and he wonders now why anyone ever would. The front of the underwear isn't much more comfortable, the tight leather snug around his cock and balls, pulling them forward a bit, as if they're on offer.  
  
“Very nice,” Hikaru says, running his hands over Chekov's bare ass cheeks. Chekov curses and moves away, and Hikaru just smirks, waving a dismissive hand in his direction.  
  
“Fine, be that way,” he says. “I'm tired. Come to bed if you want, or curl up on the floor like a puppy. That'd be cute. I'll have to give you a collar when you've earned one.”  
  
Chekov glowers at Hikaru, his face burning. Hikaru is wearing a pair of silk pajama pants, and Chekov would die for the comfort of those, as opposed to the leather thong that is squeezing his cock and balls and chafing the crack of his ass. He stands in the middle of the room, adjusting the underwear obsessively while he watches Hikaru climb into bed. Hikaru settles himself onto the pillows and looks over at Chekov, laughing a little.  
  
“God, you look nice in that thing,” he says. “Come here, don't be stubborn. You look like you're about to drop. First time with an agonizer isn't too easy, huh? He had you in its beam for a good while, too.” Hikaru sniffs, then smiles. “Maybe that means you're not as weak as you look.”  
  
“I'm not,” Chekov says, though he does feel like he's close to dropping to the floor. Just hearing the word _agonizer_ makes his skin tighten with fear. He looks around Hikaru's room for a comfortable place to sleep that isn't that big, inviting bed, but sees nothing except for a rug made from an animal skin, and the last thing he wants to do is give Hikaru a laugh by curling up on that with his ass cheeks presented like he's in some kind of fetish wear ad. He sighs and walks to the bed, hating Hikaru's smile, because it's smug, and because it reminds him of the real Hikaru, the one he's missing very badly right now. The real Hikaru would chop this guy in half for the way he's treated Chekov.  
  
“That's a good boy,” Hikaru says, patting the bed. Chekov worms his way up toward the pillows and pushes his legs under the blankets, glad for the chance to cover himself. He yanks the blankets up to his chin and rolls onto his side, toward the wall, trying not to feel too grateful for the fact that Hikaru is lying between him and the door of the room. Beyond that door lies a whole world of new terrors that Chekov doesn't want to think about. He sighs when Hikaru presses up behind him, hardly surprised, and squirms as Hikaru caresses his chest, then his hip, his ass.  
  
“Stop,” Chekov says firmly, not sure why he's bothering. “Don't touch me like that.”  
  
“You're a bossy little brat, hmm?” Hikaru says, mouthing at Chekov's shoulder. “What's the matter with being touched? Doesn't it feel good?”  
  
“You don't have my permission,” Chekov says. He grabs Hikaru's hand and holds it against his chest, over his wild heartbeat, just to keep it still. “Please. Won't you just let me sleep?”  
  
“Sure, rosebud,” Hikaru says, snaking his other arm under Chekov's neck and wrapping it around him so that he's fully contained, snug against Hikaru's chest.  
  
“I asked you not to call me that,” Chekov says. He shifts, trying not to think about the feeling of Hikaru's silk pants against his bare ass cheeks, or the heat that emanates from inside them.  
  
“It's adorable that you think you can give me orders,” Hikaru says. His arms are so strong that Chekov isn't surprised that he's simply amused by Chekov's attempts to assert himself. He could crush Chekov easily, but he doesn't, just holds him with his powerful arms, tightly around his shoulders and across his chest. Chekov wonders if his Hikaru is this strong in his arms. He looks like he would be. Chekov has noticed, once or twice, when they've gone to the gym together.  
  
“Comfortable?” Hikaru murmurs in his ear.  
  
“Yes,” Chekov says, because he's afraid to say no, afraid he'll have to give up this soft pillow, these warm blankets, and this feeling of security, Hikaru's legs locked in behind his. If he was at anything resembling his full strength, he would be disgusted by this situation, but he's so, so tired, and as soon as he allows his eyes to flutter shut, sleep begins to drag him down.  
  
He doesn't have time to dream before he's waking to a real-life nightmare. There's a furious bang, and Chekov wakes with a start, scrambling for a conscious thought beyond the primal fear that's making his heart pound. Hikaru is with him, and he grabs at Hikaru's back as a man stomps across the dark room, shouting.  
  
“Lights, one hundred percent!” the man shouts again. He's big, and angry, and that's all that Chekov can see in the dim light of the room, which doesn't change at the man's command.  
  
“Lights, thirty percent,” Hikaru says. He sounds calm. Chekov ducks down lower to hide behind his shoulder, only his eyes poking above it. As the lights come up he gasps: the man standing in the room is his captain, Kirk, come to save him!  
  
“What the fuck is that?” Kirk asks, pointing at Chekov and glaring at Hikaru. Chekov decides to hold off on bounding over to Kirk and throwing his arms around his neck. Something is off; this doesn't seem like the Kirk from his world, though he looks just like him, plus a few days worth of stubble.  
  
“I believe you're familiar with the concept of slavery,” Hikaru says. He doesn't seem particularly surprised that Kirk has burst into his room, and that trick with the lights that only responded to his voice must have been an anticipatory measure.  
  
“Where the hell did you find him?” Kirk asks. “Scotty says he beamed aboard by himself, but that's fucking impossible, and suicidal. Or it should have been.”  
  
“Where he came from is my business,” Hikaru says. “I'm handling it.”  
  
“Bullshit you are. And everything that happens on this ship is my fucking business, as you know. I need to examine him," Kirk says, leering. "Nobody comes aboard this ship without a personal interview with me."  
  
"A personal interview that involves your cock up the ass of my property?" Hikaru says, and Chekov's hands tighten on his sides. "I don't think so."  
  
"Your penchant for making executive decisions is starting to make me think you need some time in an agony booth, Mr. Sulu," Kirk says.  
  
"You'll have to drag me there kicking and screaming as usual, sir,” Hikaru says, and Chekov can't believe how unafraid he seems, especially if this is his captain. “Wouldn't want you to lose an eye this time, instead of an ear. The restoration might be a bit more tricky.”  
  
"That's right, keep talking shit," Kirk says, scoffing. “You know I can cut your dick off on a whim. You're on thin ice, Mr. Sulu. And I will be speaking with your new _property_ tomorrow morning, first thing."  
  
"Fine. I'll be there to chaperone him."  
  
"Yeah, we'll see about that. I'm not amused by your little trick with the lights, either. Someone will be here to undo your modifications tomorrow."  
  
Hikaru shrugs, and when Kirk turns to slam his way out of the room, Chekov lets out the shaky breath he'd been holding. His hands are still like vices around Hikaru's waist, and he can't seem to move them, still too frozen with half-awake terror.  
  
“T-that was your captain?” Chekov says. His mouth is on Hikaru's shoulder, against his skin, his whole body trembling. _Your cock up the ass of my property_ – and the way that cruel-looking Kirk had leered at him. He'd had all of the raw power of the Kirk who Chekov knows, and none of the kindness or restraint, his icy eyes full of malice.  
  
“Yeah, but don't worry about him.” Hikaru reaches back to give Chekov's waist a squeeze. “We're in a bit of a power struggle at the moment. He doesn't like the fact that I'm winning.”  
  
“Was he – will he take me? He said, you said –”  
  
“Nobody's taking you anywhere,” Hikaru says. “Believe me, if he thought he could take me one on one in my own quarters, he'd have tried it. You're his type, actually, he appreciates a good terrified waif. But as long as you're in this room, you're safe.”  
  
Chekov can't get his mind to settle down, his heart still hammering, and when Hikaru turns to pull him into his arms, Chekov just sinks against his chest, letting Hikaru hold him and pet him and finally draw him back down to the pillows.  
  
“I can rig the door so he can't get in,” Hikaru says, still petting Chekov's hair. Chekov sighs and scoots a little closer. In the dark, after that episode, it's easy to pretend that this is his Hikaru, the one he knows and trusts, someone who will hold him while he's scared and hurt and needing comfort, expecting nothing in return. Maybe there is some of that Hikaru in this one: after all, he likes plants, and scented water, and leather. There was a rumor going around before Chekov left that some yeomans saw Hikaru wearing leather pants at a bar during shore leave. Chekov smiles sadly at the memory as Hikaru draws the blankets up over him again, rolling away from the door and hiding Chekov against his chest.  
  
“I need to go home,” Chekov says softly. “I don't belong here.”  
  
“We'll see,” Hikaru says. “Get some rest. Lights, five percent,” he says, and the room goes dim and dark red again, looking a bit like a vampire's lair. Chekov reminds himself to think of this Hikaru as what he is: a monster who stripped him and who treats him like a lap dog at best. He tries to keep this in mind, but it's too tempting to go on pretending that this is his Hikaru as they hold each other under the blankets, Hikaru's breath growing slower and steadier, his body so heavy and warm against Chekov's. Chekov knows that he has no reason to feel safe, but maybe he's just too tired to feel anything else.

*

Chekov wakes up from dim dreams full of spiderwebs to an uncomfortable pain in his ass and a tickly feeling that he mistakes for an insect in his hair. It's actually Hikaru's breath, and Chekov's breath stops as he takes a moment to orient himself. It's not _Hikaru's_ breath at all, it's some _other_ , awful Hikaru, and tears well in Chekov's chest for a moment as he allows himself to think about home, the times he's woken up in his bed with Hikaru beside him after they fell asleep watching movies together. He moans and reaches back between his ass cheeks to pull the strap of leather out so that it's not digging into his crack quite so painfully. Even his cock and balls feel sore after a night spent in this unforgiving leather sling.  
  
Hikaru's eyes open slowly, but he seems lucid right away, and he puts one big hand on the side of Chekov's face, as if to still his squirming. Chekov sighs and fights away tears again, not wanting to be called a weakling. It's just that he was hoping, praying so hard, that this would turn out to be a bad dream.  
  
“Sleep well?” Hikaru asks. His voice is rougher than it was last night, so deep, and Chekov shudders with recognition: once, Hikaru made it all the way through the night in Chekov's bed, after they'd both pulled double shifts and attempted to watch the news together afterward on Chekov's data screen. When they woke up together in the morning they laughed, embarrassed, and Hikaru said _Jesus_. His voice was deeper than usual and scratchy, just like this one's.  
  
“I slept,” Chekov says, leaving it at that. “Though it was not easy in these – underwear.”  
  
Hikaru moans, smiling and reaching down to feel his way over the snug front of Chekov's underwear, rubbing at the bulge of his cock. Chekov gasps and squirms away, regretting drawing Hikaru's attention there very much. His cock is half-hard, as it usually is in the morning, and this seems to encourage Hikaru's groping, his smile widening.  
  
“Please,” Chekov says. “It's, ah, t-too early, I'm so hungry.”  
  
“Hungry,” Hikaru repeats, and he presses his face against Chekov's, seeming to suck Chekov's gasps and half-formed protests into his hot mouth as it closes over Chekov's. His breath smells like the heady scent of the cigarette he smoked before he got in bed, and Chekov can taste the staleness of his own breath as he moans his irritation, probably only fueling the fire. Hikaru sighs against Chekov's lips, and rolls him onto his back, sliding over on top of him and flattening him to the mattress. Chekov's heart is beating hard as he stares up at Hikaru, trying to make his eyes slope pathetically enough to appeal to any sympathy he might have, and trying not to look at the scar.  
  
“Wait,” Chekov begs as Hikaru lowers his mouth to his again.  
  
“Quiet,” Hikaru mutters, and he kisses Chekov as hard as he pleases, licking against his nervous tongue, biting at his trembling lips. The shifting weight of Hikaru's body presses down on Chekov's morning wood, and his cock throbs, growing harder. He whines at the thought that Hikaru will take this as a sign that he's enjoying himself, and curses himself when Hikaru's knee digs in between his legs and his thighs spread involuntarily.  
  
“You feel fucking good, kid,” Hikaru murmurs hotly against Chekov's lips, and Chekov's face burns.  
  
“Please,” he whispers, beginning to tremble hard, confused and upset by the flush of pleasure that is spreading through him. He's never been pinned like this, has never been kissed by someone who took control and plundered his mouth, claiming him.  
  
“Shh,” Hikaru says. He smoothes the mess of Chekov's bed-tousled curls from his forehead and kisses his face with startling tenderness, making Chekov's eyes flutter shut as his breath comes faster. Hikaru pushes his hips down against Chekov's in a slow drag, and Chekov moans when he feels the shape of Hikaru's erection rubbing against his own. Hikaru feels big, bigger than Chekov ever imagined his own Hikaru's cock would be. Not that he's thought about it, really, not often.  
  
“Tell me how you like to be touched,” Hikaru says. It seems a serious, unfriendly question, Hikaru's unreadable eyes hooded with lust, his hips rolling again, sending sparks of electric friction up Chekov's spine.  
  
“Not at all,” Chekov says, trying to sound firm and not terrified. “Not by a man.”  
  
“How do you know? Did some asshole mess you up?”  
  
A sob pops out but Chekov manages to make it sound like a hiccup, though his chin is trembling. He bites his bottom lip hard and nods.  
  
“Mhmm,” Hikaru says, sounding almost sympathetic as he runs possessive fingers through Chekov's hair. “What'd he do? Don't tell me he fucked your cherry out before I could.”  
  
“Oh, God!” Chekov loses it then, starting to cry. “Please, please.” He can't believe this is happening to him again, _in another dimension_ , where there will be no miraculous third escape. Hikaru sighs and sits up on his elbows. He traces one finger from Chekov's chin down over the softest part of his neck, stroking his Adam's apple as it bobs with a heavy swallow.  
  
“So you're not a virgin,” Hikaru says.  
  
“Yes, sir, please, I am,” Chekov says, trying to scrabble his tears away with the back of one hand. “Please, if you are – oh, _God_ help me – if you are going to do this, please be careful, please. I have never, never –” He can't even say it. He's never had so much as a finger in his ass.  
  
Hikaru frowns. “I thought you said you'd had your cherry popped?”  
  
“N-no, only, some people tried, I was very young.” He gives in to the crying, which feels good, though he's humiliated as his chest jerks underneath Hikaru's. He pinches his eyes shut and drills his fists into them.  
  
“Ah, I see,” Hikaru says. He takes Chekov's fists and draws them away, pins them over his head. “The worst of both worlds – traumatized but not broken in.” He kisses the tip of Chekov's nose. “Well, I, for one, am relieved. What good's a terrified waif if he's not a virgin?”  
  
“How can you be so cruel?” Chekov asks, choking on the words. “Why don't you just d-do it and quit taunting me?” He sobs again, regretting that challenge instantly.  
  
“Because, you wibbling little fool, I don't want you to be terrified when I do it. I'm willing to wait out this – crying. Some people want their slaves to sob for them, but I'd prefer that mine moaned and drooled and said my name like it was sacred.”  
  
Chekov sniffles and rubs at his face, confused and not at all comforted. Hikaru sighs and leans up onto his hands and knees to reach for something on a bedside table. Chekov thinks about kneeing him in the balls and running, but where would he go, wearing only a leather thong? He lies still and lets Hikaru dry his face with a soft red handkerchief.  
  
“Blow,” he says, holding it around Chekov's nose. Chekov feels like an idiot, but embarrassment is the least of his problems, and he blows his nose into the handkerchief, rubbing at his eyes while Hikaru wipes his nose dry and throws the handkerchief away, making a face.  
  
“See what crying gets you?” he says. “Just a lot of snot. You should be thanking your lucky stars that you ended up here with me. You should be kissing my feet. Do I need to give you a taste of the others, or the agony booth, to make you appreciate me?”  
  
“Please, no,” Chekov says, shrinking in on himself. He feels like he's standing beside the bed watching this happen to someone else, maybe his weak little fourteen-year-old self, who sobbed into his pillow for days after escaping his first attack, trying to do so quietly enough to hide it from his roommate. When he told the real Hikaru what had happened to him at the Academy, Hikaru had hugged him so hard, his eyes going red-rimmed as he begged Chekov for the names of the guys who'd attacked him. Chekov wouldn't give them up; he was actually afraid, that day, that Hikaru would find them and kill them.  
  
“It's all relative, baby,” Hikaru says, and Chekov winces at the endearment. There's nothing he likes less than being called _baby_ and _kid_.  
  
“Here,” Hikaru says. “Watch.”  
  
Hikaru leans down to kiss him again, very softly, teasing at Chekov's swollen bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. Chekov doesn't close his eyes, because he doesn't want to be pulled into something pleasurable again, against his will. Hikaru leaves his eyes open, too, their lashes fluttering together as they peer into each other, both trying to find something recognizable there.  
  
“Shh,” Hikaru says when Chekov whimpers as Hikaru's hand moves from his shoulder down to his chest. He rubs at Chekov's nipples, Chekov's breath shuddering out nervously when Hikaru begins to pinch them, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. He's gentle, not breaking eye contact with Chekov, the darkness in his eyes so deep that Chekov knows he'll never see past it.  
  
“Maybe where you come from people think surrendering is a bad thing,” Hikaru says. “Certain people do here, too. Me, for example. I was a slave. I know what it's like to be very young and have someone hold you down, do whatever he wants. See this?” He points to the scar. “Best thing that ever happened to me. One of my rivals did it when I was fourteen. The piece of shit who owned me didn't want to touch me after that, and he sold me to a miner, but I was too tall to go in with the other kids, so I got to clean his house.  
  
“I had been trained as a proper concubine, you know, educated.” He's talking like Chekov should take all of this in stride, his hand still moving back and forth between Chekov's nipples, making them red and sensitive, making him gasp. Chekov's mouth is getting wet, and he's staring at Hikaru's, his lips still tingling from that last hard, smoky kiss.  
  
“I used what I learned in my training to cheat my new master,” Hikaru says. “Stole from him and organized some of the kids – how hard is it to convince people who hate their lives to follow you? Give them a few trinkets and they're yours. We killed the miner and his family and took over the place. I left it to other slaves when I moved on. They were dying of it, coughing up pieces of their lungs, so it was theirs by right, don't you think?”  
  
Hikaru smiles, and his hand creeps down further, sneaking over the tiny hairs on Chekov's stomach as Chekov stares up at him, mesmerized by the fairy tale he's spinning. But maybe it's true; Chekov knows nothing about this world, except that it's cruel. He lets out his breath when Hikaru's hand slides over the leather-clad bulge between his legs, trying to force himself to relax. When he blinks, one more tear sneaks out of his right eye, streaking down the side of his face. Hikaru leans down to lick it away.  
  
“I always told myself,” Hikaru says, speaking more softly now, his hand closing like a cage over Chekov's cock. “When I had slaves, I wouldn't use them to hollow out mountains or take cock like brainless fuck holes. I wouldn't want my slaves hating me, or even fearing me, because what's the difference? I want them to worship me.”  
  
His hand slips into Chekov's underwear and Chekov cries out when Hikaru's warm, somehow familiar hand closes around his cock. He arches and Hikaru licks at his neck, nipping him in places, growling as he jerks him. Chekov pinches his eyes shut and pants, feeling seasick and much too hard not to come, his hips bucking up to meet Hikaru's grip. He whispers _fuck this, fuck this_ in Russian, because it's manipulative, dirty, wrong, but when Hikaru kisses his words away he opens wide for him, pushing his tongue into Hikaru's mouth. Hikaru laughs and nudges Chekov's cheek with his nose.  
  
“Show me,” he whispers. “I want to take care of you.”  
  
“Ah –” Chekov needs to come, so he reaches down and closes his hand over Hikaru's, twisting his wrist, tightening his fingers, showing him how he touches himself when he's in bed alone at night, thinking of Nava from engineering or Rhianna from geosciences, how their painted lips would look stretched around his cock, and never thinking of his Hikaru, those arms, the sheen of sweat on his shoulders when they work out together, or the smell he leaves on Chekov's pillow when he dozes there. Never.  
  
“Hikaru!' he cries when he comes, trying to shout the name across however many dimensions separate this one from his own, wanting his Hikaru to hear him, to save him from this. He moans as his come spills over this Hikaru's knuckles, and opens his wet eyes to see Hikaru studying him, looking impassive for a moment. He smirks.  
  
“Good,” he says. “Now clean my hand.” He lifts it up and Chekov whines, but maybe if he does this he'll be spared the task of tending to Hikaru's erection, which is hot against his leg, even through the silk pants. Chekov sighs and sticks his tongue out to take a tentative taste of his own come. He looks up at Hikaru, who raises an eyebrow.  
  
“All of it,” he says, and Chekov moans. He shuts his eyes again and starts licking, hating the taste, especially as it cools, though the actual act of cleaning his come from the hand that pumped it from him is something he could get behind, maybe, if it this were his Hikaru's hand, the one that steers the ship according to Chekov's directions. He pretends that it is, and opens his eyes, keeping them on Hikaru's hand, which is almost identical to the one he knows from the conn of the _Enterprise_ , except for one little white scar. He licks over the scar last, and he's out of breath when he's done, an unpleasant taste on his tongue. Hikaru smiles.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, and Chekov is afraid for a moment that he messed something up. Hikaru swoops in and kisses him, attacking his lips, a low moan building in the back of his throat. “You are so fucking pretty,” he says, muttering, still licking at Chekov's parted lips.  
  
“Does everybody look like this where you come from?” Hikaru asks, and Chekov shakes his head. He sinks back down to the pillows and sighs, feeling like he could sleep again, still weak from yesterday's attack, and from raw emotion, nerves, his orgasm.  
  
“That's right,” Hikaru says. “One of those bastards looks just like me, doesn't he? What do you think of him? I used to be pretty good-looking, without this.” He covers the scar on his face with his hand and turns to show Chekov his good side.  
  
“His eyes are kinder,” Chekov says weakly. He reaches down and strips the uncomfortable underwear off, since there's no point in modesty now. A man who considers him a slave just jerked him off. He's too relieved that he's not being fucked into the mattress to work up much indignation, but he supposes there's still no reason he shouldn't expect that to happen at any moment.  
  
“Kind eyes, well,” Hikaru says. “Most people with those end up where you are.”  
  
“Don't you think I would like to be like you?” Chekov says. “In control of my own body? Don't you have any empathy?”  
  
Hikaru laughs, and Chekov flings the stupid underwear to the bedroom floor, rolling away from Hikaru in disgust. He tries to buck Hikaru off when he presses up against his back, but Hikaru is too strong, and he pins Chekov to the mattress, his breath hot on Chekov's neck.  
  
“I let you come, didn't I?” he says. “That's empathy, where I come from, rosebud.”  
  
“If you don't stop calling me that I will kill you, I swear to God.” Chekov has nothing to lose; why not make empty threats? He shudders when Hikaru flattens his tongue against his shoulder and licks him all the way up his neck and along his jawline. Hikaru's clothed erection is digging into Chekov's ass crack, and now he wishes he at least had that thin strip of leather to protect it.  
  
“There is pleasure in submitting, too, you know,” Hikaru says, his hands traveling over Chekov's body, under the blankets. “It can be nice, very nice, if the person you submit to knows how to hold you in one strong hand like a shivering bundle of nerves, and _mhmm_ , soft skin.” He bites at Chekov's neck and Chekov gasps, hardly realizing what he's doing as he tilts his head to give Hikaru better access. He moans as Hikaru's teeth scrape gently over his skin, and he feels like he's in free fall, suddenly not sure which way is up. His cock is getting hard again. It's been so long since someone touched him, and with the girls it was different, he always had to take charge, and he liked that, the way they blushed for him. He doesn't want to prove this Hikaru right, doesn't want to feel good, but even the warm pressure of Hikaru's erection against the crack of his ass is arousing, though Chekov wants it to stay where it is, inside Hikaru's pants.  
  
“You know how they used to train us, before we were sold?” Hikaru asks. Chekov just moans, knowing that Hikaru is going to show him whether he plays along or not. Hikaru rolls him onto his stomach and pulls him up onto his elbows and knees, mounting him like they're going to fuck, pulling his silk pants down. Chekov hides his face in the pillow and breathes hard, gasping when Hikaru's longer, thicker erection slides between his legs and rubs against his own.  
  
“Some of us were so young that they couldn't penetrate us without risking damage to the property,” Hikaru says. His voice is breathy and his cock is so hard. “So they would do this, to teach us what it was like, having someone bigger take control.” He's all around Chekov, speaking in his ear, one arm snug around Chekov's chest and the other braced against the mattress as he rocks against him, rubbing their cocks together. Chekov tries to fight his moans away but finally can't, and his hips begin to twitch. Hikaru's body feels so familiar, like something Chekov already knows how to want, hovering over him and pressed against him, his big cock just long enough to cover Chekov's, like this is what they were both designed for. Hikaru flattens his hand on Chekov's chest, covers one nipple with his thumb, the other with his middle finger, and begins rubbing them in rough circles. Chekov buries his moans in the pillow as the friction on his cock builds, and he angles his hips back, lifting his ass so he can feel more of it. Hikaru laughs in his ear and drags his thumbnail across Chekov's left nipple.  
  
“Good boy,” he says, whispering the praise in Chekov's ear, and he grabs both their cocks, jerking them, squeezing them together in his hand. Chekov comes with a startled cry and drops to the mattress, panting and trembling as his cock spurts onto the sheets. Hikaru slides his cock through the crack of Chekov's ass, rubbing the shaft over his hole, and when Chekov feels Hikaru's hot come on the small of his back and hears him groan as he pumps it out, he's glad for it, glad it's over. He just lies there drawing ragged breaths as Hikaru slides down with a sated moan and stretches out on his back, his cock still throbbing as it begins to go soft, pressed between Chekov's ass cheeks.  
  
“Can't breathe,” Chekov mutters. He can, actually, but Hikaru's weight makes it difficult. Hikaru licks Chekov's ear and reaches under the pillow to find and hold his hands.  
  
“But you fit there so perfectly,” he says, sounding tired. “Underneath me.”  
  
Chekov can't really argue that, and it's not an unpleasant sensation, being covered up by Hikaru's body, held down in his surrender. His eyes are closed, and he thinks he might even be able to sleep like this, feeling as if he's grown a hard shell, something that he can hide inside.  
  
He dreams that he's floating on his back on a river, and it's peaceful, though he knows there's a waterfall behind him, he can hear it. He wakes up with a little gasp and feels around for something, maybe a raft, then remembers where he is. Hikaru is across the room, dressing and fitting weapons on his belt.  
  
“Where are you going?” Chekov mumbles into the sheets, and Hikaru turns to him with that amused, pitiless grin.  
  
“To my shift,” he says. Chekov sits up and pulls the blankets around him, glad to be unmolested for a moment but not happy about the prospect of staying in this room alone.  
  
“Don't worry,” Hikaru says. “No one can get in. I've left food for you.” He nods to his desk, where there's a covered silver tray and a bottle of water. “Don't fuck with my stuff or do anything else that might annoy me and you won't have a beating to look forward to when I get back.” He smirks. “You'll have your next lesson instead.”  
  
Chekov scowls, and Hikaru crosses the room and walks to the bed. He runs his fingers roughly through Chekov's hair, laughing under his breath.  
  
“I've left you something to wear,” he says, gesturing to an armchair beside the bed, where a pair of leather underwear with some kind of complex lacing in front are waiting. “Though it's fine by me if you want to live out your days here naked. Have a lovely afternoon.” He pats Chekov's head in an infuriatingly belittling fashion and makes for the front door.  
  
“Wait!” Chekov calls, and Hikaru looks back. “Ah – are you sure no one can get in here?”  
  
“How about we establish a rule,” Hikaru says. “Ten lashes for every time you doubt me. Sounds fair, hmm?” He winks and is gone.  
  
Chekov huffs in annoyance and hides under the blankets, his heart pounding. Finally left to his own thoughts, he starts going over the potential scenarios that could have led him to be transported to another dimension, some demented version of the _Enterprise_ where Hikaru wants him as a trembling sex slave instead of a respected friend. His lips shake at the thought of his Hikaru, but he bites down on them to keep them still.  
  
He finds some old-fashioned writing paper and a pen and sits at Hikaru's desk, wrapped in a blanket and eschewing the fetish wear, making notes. Under the silver tray there is a roast turkey sandwich with some kind of spicy dressing and a picked vegetable he doesn't recognize. He eats all of it, too hungry to worry about being doped with sex pollen or something worse. Somehow that doesn't seem to be this Hikaru's style, anyway: he's more upfront with his cruelty.  
  
Several hours later, he has some crude calculations that are worth a try. He selects a weapon from the large collection that Hikaru keeps mounted on his wall, dresses in some of Hikaru's over-large clothing, and tucks a knife into his sock. He has been trained to escape from captivity if necessary, and he won't let the uncertain pounding of his heart stop him from trying. He is nowhere near anything resembling a sex slave and he won't be treated like one, not without a real fight. His strength has mostly returned to him since being attacked by that weapon, and without that twisted Hikaru around feeding him bizarro world nonsense, he feels like he can finally think straight. He's disgusted with himself for what he's already allowed to happen, but he's got to forgive himself his momentary weakness and move forward.  
  
Approaching the door, he steels himself, taking a deep breath. He can't stay here. He won't be confined to a room and only allowed to wear leather underwear, only allowed to please a madman who claims to offer him protection from other madmen. For all Chekov knows, there are sane people on this vessel who might be willing to help him. Even if the others are as bad as this Hikaru promised, Chekov can't live out his life hiding in this cave with wolves always at the door. He needs to get back to his life, his friends. His Hikaru, who would shed angry tears if he knew what Chekov has been subjected to. Chekov will never tell Hikaru that his attacker had his face. Maybe he won't tell anyone about what really happened here: the thong, the kissing, the orgasms. Of course he won't. It will be his horrible secret, a bad memory. He lets out his breath and opens the door.  
  
The halls of this ship are not unlike those of the _Enterprise_ , though they're adorned with different symbols and not as crowded. When Chekov passes other people he keeps his eyes down, recognizing and ignoring their suspicious stares, keeping his eyes cold. He's a born navigator and he remembers being carried from the transport room. It's not difficult to find, and exultation is growing in his chest even as he anticipates disarming that horrible Scotty who hurt him, but it all crashes away when Kirk steps in front of him just as he's hurrying his footsteps, heading for the transport room.  
  
“So he sent you for your interview after all,” Kirk says, laughing. He seems taller than the Kirk that Chekov knows, and wider, his eyes full of unapologetic malice. Chekov shrinks back and reaches for his hip, but Kirk grabs his arm in a crushing grip before he can even touch the handle of the weapon he's carrying.  
  
“And he armed you?” Kirk says, laughing. “How cute. Come with me.”  
  
Chekov's heart is slamming as Kirk pulls him through the halls, away from the transport room. Kirk has taken his phaser-type weapon, but Chekov still has the dagger in his sock, and he hates the thought of slashing at this man who looks like the captain he loves and admires, but he'll do it if he has to. He tells himself that he's ready to kill to defend himself, but it doesn't feel true as Kirk throws him into an examination room and kicks the door shut behind him.  
  
“Please,” Chekov says. “I – I know I do not belong here, but –”  
  
“Shut up,” Kirk barks, and the sound of his captain's voice commanding him so cruelly stings. Chekov looks at the floor, and Kirk circles him like he's trying to decide which of Chekov's internal organs to eat first. He touches Chekov's ear and laughs when he flinches.  
  
“So, Hikaru thinks he's earned himself a soft little slave boy who'll lick his boots?” Kirk grins and lifts a device at his hip that looks like a crude communicator. “Bones,” he barks into it. “Get down here. I've got a stowaway who needs an – examination.”  
  
“Please,” Chekov says. He hates the smallness of his voice, and his shaking hands, but he has seen the look in Kirk's eyes before, on other men. “M-Mr. Sulu should be here as well, would you call him?”  
  
“Sure,” Kirk says, and then he grabs Chekov's shoulder and slams him down, face-first, onto the plain black table that takes up much of the middle of the room. Chekov loses his breath and chokes out desperate coughs, fighting for air. Kirk laughs and kicks Chekov's legs apart.  
  
“We'll call Mr. Sulu when we're done with you,” he says. Chekov struggles to get up, but Kirk pushes him down easily, one big hand flattening Chekov to the table again.  
  
“Please,” Chekov says, though he knows it's useless. The door of the room opens, and Chekov sucks in his breath, turning with hope, but it's not Hikaru. It's a man who looks like a ruined version of Dr. McCoy, with a patch over his right eye and graying hair, his greasy face covered with stubble. Chekov shrinks in on himself at the sight, and McCoy shoots Kirk an angry look.  
  
“What the fuck is this?” McCoy asks. Chekov doesn't think this man will help him, but his heart wants to hope for it as his breath fogs the table. He's thinking about the knife in his sock, but Kirk's hand is still heavy on his back, holding him down. He might have overpowered Kirk with his defensive combat skills and some miracle of luck, but he'll never overpower two men who are twice his size.  
  
“Beamed aboard yesterday,” Kirk says, holding Chekov in place while he squirms. “That son of a whore Hikaru was trying to keep him from me. I'm gonna fuck him up a little before I return him, to remind that useless chattel that slave owners are born, not made. Wanted you to scan him first, make sure he's not crawling with whorehouse contaminants.”  
  
“Fuck,” McCoy mutters. He raises his eyebrow and looks Chekov over in a way that crushes the last of Chekov's hope for rescue. Chekov winces and presses his face to the table, feeling numb already. So there was never any escaping this. He's the kind of person who was destined to be bent over and used by someone stronger. The knife in his sock burns his skin, an added insult.  
  
“That's top-quality meat,” McCoy says as he runs a scanner over Chekov's body. Kirk is holding him down with one hand spread over the small of Chekov's back and the other squeezed around his neck, choking his breath away at moments and laughing when he coughs and struggles.  
  
“Sulu probably got it from one of those whore farms that put on airs, like wherever the fuck he came from himself,” McCoy says. “Far as I can tell he hasn't even fucked the kid yet. Muscle tissue back there's some of the tightest I've ever seen on someone his age.”  
  
“You're shitting me,” Kirk says with a little laugh. “Take his pants down, let me see.”  
  
“No,” Chekov croaks, which earns him another vice-like pinch around his throat. Hot tears sting in the corners of his eyes as one or both of them work open his pants and yank them down along with the loose underwear he stole from Hikaru, exposing his ass to the room. Chekov shouts, fights, and is held easily in place.  
  
McCoy spreads Chekov's ass cheeks and Chekov goes limp with defeat, the numbness returning. He tries to think of his body as nothing more than a piece of meat as they probe at him, but he knows he's twitching not from sensation but humiliation, fear, and the misery of being unable to detach his mind from the body they're getting ready to fuck open, pulling their zippers down. He hates his tears and wants to drown in them, sucking them into his nose as they roll down his cheeks.  
  
“Hikaru's gonna be so fucking angry when he sees this,” Kirk says, laughing. “Here, hold him, I want to go first.”  
  
“Fine, damn you,” McCoy says. “I should have told you he was as loose as a cadet after initiation week.” The hands on Chekov change, these even stronger and less forgiving than Kirk's, smelling vaguely of some kind of rank tobacco.  
  
“We should fuck up his face when we're done,” Kirk says. “So he'll match his owner. Here, flip him over, I want to see him cry while I fuck that virgin hole.”  
  
A last streaking flicker of hope rips through Chekov's chest, and as McCoy turns him over Chekov kicks wildly and somehow connects with Kirk's chin. McCoy curses as Kirk falls backward, clutching at his face, but Chekov rolls away before McCoy can recapture him, grabbing the knife and slashing blindly. He hears sputtering, and hopes he caught McCoy in the face, his whole body thrilling when he sees that he's cut him across the throat, not deeply, but enough to incapacitate him. Without letting himself really look at what he's doing he slashes again, his stomach lurching when blood sprays everywhere, into his open mouth.  
  
Kirk pounces and Chekov dives away, leaving Kirk crashing to the table. Chekov kicks free of the pants and underwear that were pooled around his ankles, increasing his mobility and allowing him to leap onto the table to evade Kirk's frantic grasping. Chekov is covered in blood, naked from the waist down, but he feels holy with rage, and he's screaming as he drives the knife down and pins Kirk's hand to the table.  
  
The roar of pain Kirk lets out brings Chekov halfway back to reality, and he's going to throw up soon. He yanks the knife out of Kirk's hand, knowing he can't leave it here and run weaponless through the halls, and slashes it across Kirk's cheek in a rough approximation of Hikaru's scar.  
  
“Stay the fuck away from me or I'll do the other cheek, too,” Chekov says, and he runs while Kirk is coiled on the floor, growling and wiping the blood from his eyes. McCoy appears to be dead, and Chekov leaps over him, his cock flapping between his legs. He runs down the hall with his bloody knife drawn, grunting his breath and half-blind with rage and terror, not sure how to get back to the transport room. It ends up not mattering, because alarms are blaring, and he's not even twenty paces from the room where he was being held before he feels the searing pain of one of those agonizer weapons claiming every inch of his body.  
  
His mind slips loose, unwilling to continue participating in this insanity, and there's so much mercy in being erased that he can't imagine why he ever wanted anything else.  
  
*  
  
He wakes up slowly, warm and aching. Having learned to expect nothing familiar, he's surprised to take a deep breath full of the smell of Hikaru's skin. He's curled up in Hikaru's lap, wrapped in a blanket, naked within it. He smells blood and ash and knows he's not home, but he curls as close as he can to the Hikaru who's holding him anyway. They're back in Hikaru's quarters, and Chekov has never known relief like this, even as angry tears break from his chest.  
  
“Shh,” Hikaru says, rubbing one hand over Chekov's back, the other smoothing his hair down. “We associate crying with weakness here, you know. You cry like a fucking body of water, so you had me thinking you were weak. Turns out, maybe not.”  
  
Chekov remembers the struggle with Kirk and McCoy like a fever dream, and his ass clenches at the memory of their fingers feeling around the tight rim of his entrance, examining their prey. He puts his arms around Hikaru's neck and clings, unable to stop sobbing.  
  
“What happened?” Chekov asks, trying to bite the tears away. “How did I – how did you –”  
  
“When I heard the emergency alarms I kind of figured you'd have something to do with them,” Hikaru says. “And there you were, drooling your brains out while some asshole held you in his agonizer beam. Kirk is, well. Angry. You almost killed the doctor, but that old bastard has seen worse, he'll be alright.” Hikaru lifts Chekov's chin and smirks down at him. “Nice touch with the cut on the face. With McCoy incapacitated for the time being, Kirk probably won't be able to get it healed.”  
  
“I was out of my mind,” Chekov says. He hides his face in Hikaru's chest and wishes to God that it didn't feel so good to be held, that he didn't need it so much right now. “They were going to – to –”  
  
“I know what they were going to do. I'm still kind of in awe that you got away. I figured you were special when you were able to beam aboard this ship, but damn. Self-protecting property: the best kind.”  
  
“I'm not your property!” Chekov rails, thumping his fist against Hikaru's chest. “How can you – behave as if you're helping me, talk as if you've come to respect me, and then –”  
  
“Hey,” Hikaru says sharply. “I had to do some pretty intense negotiating to get you back here and not turned into a vegetable inside an agony booth. Show a little respect for me, for fuck's sake.” He wraps Chekov up tightly, crushing him against his chest. Chekov just breathes in angry huffs, his eyes so raw from crying that he wants to dig them out.  
  
“I was trying to leave,” Chekov says. “I need to leave this place.”  
  
“Yeah, I'm starting to get that impression,” Hikaru says. “But you've still got to earn your keep here with me until we figure out exactly how we're going to accomplish that. So shut the fuck up and sit tight. Let me think.”  
  
Hikaru bathes Chekov again, and the water turns pink with the blood that was smeared on Chekov's cheeks and dried in his hair. Afterward, he carries Chekov to the bed and lets him sleep, which is all Chekov's body is capable of doing after a second round of agonizer shocks. He dreams that he's drowning in silk and velvet, trying to claw his way out of a bottomless pit of fabric. When he wakes up, Hikaru is wearing a tiny pair of glasses and frowning down at a datapad.  
  
“Sleep well?” Hikaru asks, putting his hand on top of Chekov's head without looking over at him. “I hope so. You're facing quite a punishment.”  
  
“What?” Chekov says weakly. His throat is so dry. “I thought you said you negotiated –”  
  
“I got you out of being punished by Kirk and the others, yes,” Hikaru says. “I claimed you as a whore that I bought fair and square, and unless someone can take you from me by force, you've got safe harbor inside my quarters. But inside my quarters, you've still got to be punished for disobeying me.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” Chekov mutters into the blankets, almost too exhausted to even care. “Why don't you just fuck me and kill me? I'm tired of your games.”  
  
“Call it whatever you want,” Hikaru says. “But I don't think you want to be killed, and I'm not fucking you until you're begging me for it.”  
  
“That's never going to happen!”  
  
“We'll see.”  
  
Chekov is limp while Hikaru prepares him for his punishment. He lets Hikaru tie his hands behind his back, fighting away the warm ball of relief that gathers in his chest as he begins to trust that at least _this_ monster won't hurt him as badly as he _could_. It's sick, and Chekov tries to work up a rage as Hikaru arranges him face-first over a soft ottoman and walks behind him.  
  
“You'll count for me,” Hikaru says, brandishing a polished wooden paddle. “Just ten for today, since you're still all wrung out from that agonizer.”  
  
“Beat me as long as you like,” Chekov says. “I'm not counting.”  
  
This changes around the thirtieth blow, when Chekov starts sobbing out numbers. By the time he gets to “ten” he doesn't even know what the word means, only that it will release him from this torture. He puts his face against the ottoman and wails, more in frustration than at the pain that is burning through his bruised, bleeding ass cheeks.  
  
“Shhh,” Hikaru says. He puts the paddle away and kneels down in front of Chekov, who wishes he had the willpower to bite Hikaru's hands as they stroke tears from his cheeks. “I think you've learned your lesson,” Hikaru says.  
  
Chekov doesn't even have the energy to hold utensils, so he submits the humiliation of being held in Hikaru's lap, his ass blazing with red hot pain against Hikaru's thighs as he lets Hikaru feed him little bites of meat and pudding, the occasional sob still shaking from the back of his throat as he fights to swallow the food down. He's given milk when he's done, and Hikaru strokes his hair while he drinks, then chuckles and leans in to lick up a drop that escaped the corner of Chekov's lips.  
  
“Fucking hate you,” Chekov mumbles when Hikaru nuzzles at his face, looking for a kiss. Chekov isn't sure why he gives in, or why it's a comfort, the heat of Hikaru's mouth, the way he tips Chekov's head back and claims him, licking through his lips.  
  
“Hate is progress,” Hikaru says as he carries Chekov to the bed.  
  
*  
  
The next morning, Chekov is motionless with pain. His ass is so sore he can't move without hissing at the sting, and his nerves are still frayed from the agonizer. His ribs ache from being bent over the table in Kirk's interrogation room and then over the ottoman in Hikaru's quarters, and his mind is splintered with hurt and humiliation, blanketed with hopelessness. He wants to fight away from Hikaru's warm caresses as he wakes, but he just shuts his eyes and pretends that it's his Hikaru, that he's whispering that Chekov is home now, that it was all just a bad dream.  
  
“What would you like first?” Hikaru asks, his voice warm in Chekov's ear. “Your bath or your lesson?”  
  
Chekov sighs in defeat, trying not to whimper on the end of it. He can't even manage that, and Hikaru moans at the sound, licking Chekov behind his ear.  
  
“Too tired to move, hmm?” Hikaru says. He rubs his hand down over Chekov's back and up again, uncoiling his sore muscles. “Alright. Just lie there, on your stomach. Spread your legs a little. Perfect.”  
  
Chekov leaves his eyes shut and listens to Hikaru bustling around. He tells himself that he doesn't care what happens next, that his hope is gone and so should be his sense of self-preservation. He smells something faintly medicinal and cracks his eyes open.  
  
“Very easy lesson today,” Hikaru says, beside him again, the medicinal smell heavy around him. His hand smoothes down Chekov's spine, feigning a loving touch, fingers skimming softly over Chekov's skin. His hand stops at the crack of Chekov's ass, and Chekov whines in complaint as Hikaru parts it with two slick fingers.  
  
“Shh,” Hikaru whispers, kissing Chekov's face when he turns toward Hikaru to protest. “You need to learn that this is not so bad. It's not some sacred flower that will die if it's plucked. It's just a place on the body that can be used to make you feel good, or to make you feel like shit. Either one can make you feel owned, but there are different ways to experience that.”  
  
“Please,” Chekov says, sighing wetly. “Just help me get home.”  
  
“I will, and this is something you can take with you. Relax.” Hikaru's fingers move lower, and Chekov moans in fear when they tickle around the wrinkled rim of his hole. McCoy and Kirk touched him there yesterday, just briefly and without penetrating him, but it was enough to make him sick to his stomach, that violation. This feels different, of course: warm under blankets with his face pressed to a mattress instead of a table, but it's still happening against his will, even if he is half-asleep with exhausted calm, his thighs inching apart as Hikaru's wet fingers wake up secret, sensitive nerves that Chekov didn't know he had.  
  
“See?” Hikaru says, one hand scrubbing through Chekov's curls as the other holds him apart, spreading him so his fingers can play around Chekov's hole, moving lower, making Chekov shout with pleasure as they rub over other secret places.  
  
“Not so bad, hmm?” Hikaru says, tickling the rim of his hole again, making him shudder. Chekov lets out a long breath and spreads his legs wider. If he's going to give up hope, he might as well embrace physical pleasure. His skin is hot with it now, his cock getting hard against the mattress.  
  
“Don't let the artless bullies of the world convince you that being owned has to hurt,” Hikaru says. “It's a completely sane thing to desire, if you can learn how to surrender to trust, and then to gratitude.”  
  
Chekov wills himself not to listen, not to think about how good it would feel to thank someone for giving him pleasure, for showing him how to unlock his body like a good drug. Such a thing can't be forced or coerced, and he won't equate that idea with what's actually happening. Still, he's too tired to hate his erection or fight the tingling feeling around his hole, the curiosity that grows as Hikaru's finger dips in to press against that tight opening, testing it.  
  
“There's nothing quite like a virgin,” Hikaru says with a sigh, as if appreciating great art. “So tight. Fucking pretty, too.” He leans in, and before Chekov can even suck in a shocked breath, Hikaru is kissing the pink pucker of Chekov's hole, then licking it, just once, soft with the tip of his tongue. Chekov shivers hard, his cock leaking onto the sheets. He's heard of this, of course, but he never thought he'd be the recipient, that anyone would actually want to put their mouth on his ass.  
  
“ _God_ ,” Chekov whispers, in Russian, so that Hikaru won't interpret it as _gratitude_. Hikaru licks him again, moaning as if he actually likes the taste of Chekov down there, and Chekov's face burns as he inches his legs apart further, moving up onto his knees a bit, though the effort makes his whole body shake. Hikaru holds him up with two strong hands around his thighs, pulling him apart wider, his tongue laving against his hole again, so hot and wet. Chekov doesn't want to think about anything except how good this feels, and he buries his groans in the mattress.  
  
“All I want to do is take care of this perfect fucking body,” Hikaru says, his words hot against Chekov's hole, which is clenching now, against Chekov's will, opening as if to beg for Hikaru's tongue before pinching shut again. Hikaru rubs it with his finger and Chekov screams with pleasure, because he needed that, the extra pressure, the rougher touch. Hikaru laughs and gives him a wide lick.  
  
“Touch yourself now,” Hikaru says, and Chekov whines with – he won't call it _gratitude_ but _relief_ , because he wanted to, but didn't want to give himself permission. He'd rather take an order and pretend that he's acting completely and entirely against his will as he jerks his cock to the feeling of Hikaru eating his ass.  
  
“ _Uhhh_ ,” Chekov moans when he comes, his hand moving fast on his cock as Hikaru's tongue pushes into his body. Chekov collapses onto his stomach, his hole closing up, and Hikaru lets him hide it, laughing and giving Chekov's sore ass cheeks a swat that makes him yelp. His orgasm peters out and he pants against the bedsheets, waiting for the catch. Hikaru disappears into the bathroom and Chekov hears water running, then the electric whir of a sonic toothbrush.  
  
When Hikaru returns to the bedroom Chekov peeks at him timidly, still lying on his stomach, glued to the mattress with his cooling come. He's praying that Hikaru won't make him return the favor and flinches when Hikaru slides into the bed beside him.  
  
“Calm down,” Hikaru says, spreading his legs to show Chekov his erection. “Just watch.”  
  
Chekov does as he asked, hoping that if he keeps his eyes trained faithfully enough on Hikaru's cock this really will be all that's required of him. Hikaru is propped up on one elbow, leaning on his side with his legs spread apart as he works his cock in languid pulls, his hand wet with lube. He doesn't groan or thrust up through his fingers, just watches Chekov watching him as his hand moves on his cock.  
  
“Come here,” Hikaru says when his cock has grown so red and full in his hand that Chekov knows he's close. Chekov peeks up at his face and finds him looking stern, frowning with concentration. Hikaru uses his free hand to grab Chekov's elbow and drag him over.  
  
“Drink it up when I come,” Hikaru says. “Or you'll get ten more blows on your ass and those welts will split right open again.”  
  
Chekov sighs and nods, preferring to drink come than take any more abuse on his bruised ass cheeks. He doesn't even think about what he's doing as he positions himself on his hands and knees between Hikaru's spread thighs and opens his lips, his mouth hovering over the tip of Hikaru's engorged cock. His mind is so clear of reason and justification and even protest that he barely tastes Hikaru's come as he licks it from the tip of his cock. The only thing that breaks through his haze of mindless obedience is the sound of Hikaru's pleased groan as he watches Chekov drink from his dick. A little thrill shoots down Chekov's spine at the sound, and he tries to tell himself that he's not happy because he did a particularly good job, made Hikaru feel especially good. He's just glad he won't be punished, and he flops down to the mattress when Hikaru's cock is empty, every drop swallowed. His eyes fall shut and he lets Hikaru pull him up into his arms.  
  
“Good boy,” Hikaru whispers, kissing Chekov's face. “Open your eyes for me.”  
  
Chekov does as he asked. Hikaru's eyes are dark, still unknowable, but there's a softness at the edges. He's impressed. Chekov moans and pushes his face against Hikaru's, needing the warmth, the deceptive comfort of skin to skin contact.  
  
“I would have paid a billion credits for you,” Hikaru says, his voice soft and his lips close to Chekov's ear as he dozes off. “I would have killed a thousand men.”  
  
Chekov dreams that he's a little prince on a jeweled throne, but when he tries to get up he finds that his ankles are shackled to the legs of the throne with beautiful gold cuffs.  
  
*  
  
Chekov does not try to break out of the room again, though he doesn't believe that Hikaru will actually help him get back to his ship. He focuses his energy on getting through each day, eating anything Hikaru offers, including his come, and his cock, which Hikaru painstakingly teaches Chekov to swallow over a period of days, training him to loosen his jaw and relax his throat. Chekov gets hard whenever he does it, sometimes pretending that this is his Hikaru, that he's home on the _Enterprise_ , making a deserving man feel good. At other times he lets himself accept what he has become, thinking of himself as a sex slave, at the mercy of a tyrant who is stealing pleasure from him, using Chekov's body to feel good. For some reason, probably because he doesn't have to couple these thoughts with sadness over the loss of that real Hikaru, this is the more arousing fantasy.  
  
But it's not a fantasy, it's reality, no matter how this Hikaru pretends to be educating him for his own good. Chekov wakes up to Hikaru's insistent hands, and he opens his body to Hikaru, first for his fingers, which have an evil way of curling that makes Chekov shriek and come like a button that's been pressed again and again and again, leaving him weak and panting as Hikaru laughs into his mouth. Eventually, Hikaru graduates him to slender dildos, watching Chekov's face as he's breached. There's none of the pain Chekov feared, not even much humiliation as Hikaru allows him to hide under blankets while Hikaru reaches beneath them to train his hole to take more and more pressure, more weight, thicker dildos each morning.  
  
“So much for your plan of making me beg before you'll fuck me,” Chekov pants out angrily one morning, when Hikaru has fucked him to orgasm with a dildo designed to stimulate the prostate. Hikaru smirks.  
  
“You're still gonna beg,” he says. “This isn't fucking. Not like what you'll beg for. This is just practice, training.”  
  
Chekov rolls his eyes. It's been months, and he's become accustomed to Hikaru's stupid boasting. He's also becoming accustomed to sleeping with Hikaru's warm weight pressed to his back, and has even grudgingly admitted to himself that he looks forward to the end of Hikaru's shifts, when he arrives in the room to still Chekov's fears of being kidnapped while he's away, and to give him someone to talk to, something to do.  
  
“How did you become a slave?” Chekov asks Hikaru one night when they're in the bath together, Hikaru smoking one of his cigarettes and washing Chekov's back. Chekov is half asleep, accepting puffs on the cigarette when Hikaru offers them, feeling floaty and good. He's hard from the feeling of Hikaru's hands on his body and the warm water that tickles against his pointed nipples.  
  
“I was born to a farmer,” Hikaru says. “My mother died, and my father remarried. The second wife wanted to sell me for profit to a school for concubines, and my father thought that sounded like a good idea. I reminded him of my mother, and she'd betrayed him by dying.”  
  
“How old were you?”  
  
“Five years.”  
  
Hikaru rinses Chekov's back clean and rubs his hand up the back of Chekov's neck, making his muscles melt with pleasure as his eyes fall shut. Hikaru's hands – Chekov loved them in his own world, too.  
  
“I was sent away when I was five years old, too,” Chekov says. “Because I reminded my father of my mother.”  
  
“But you were no concubine,” Hikaru says with a snort, as if Chekov could never pass for such.  
  
“No. Boarding school. I was a genius, my father said. I needed proper stimulation. The bigger boys were always teasing me. It was the same when I went to the Academy, only then it wasn't just teasing.” He shudders; he's high and should stop talking. Hikaru's hands are in his hair now, massaging a lavender-scented shampoo into his curls.  
  
“This is my only memory of my mother,” Hikaru says. “Sitting where you are now, being washed.”  
  
“She smoked while she bathed you?” Chekov asks with a smirk, actually feeling bad for the joke, because clearly this is what this Hikaru associates with loving care: cleaning someone well.  
  
“No,” Hikaru says, mumbling, the cigarette clamped between his lips. “She sang. Do you have music, where you came from?”  
  
“Of course we do.”  
  
Chekov shouldn't have admitted to that. Hikaru makes him sing for hours that night, until his throat is sore, Hikaru on the bed in his robe, smirking.  
  
“C'mere, canary,” Hikaru says when Chekov is panting his breath, standing in the middle of the room in black leather underwear and white knee socks, his usual uniform. He bounds to Hikaru and takes the bottle of water he offers, gulping it down while he sits between Hikaru's legs. Hikaru pets him and watches him drink, cold fondness in his eyes.  
  
“Do they have those in your world?” Hikaru asks. “Canaries?”  
  
“Yes. Birds.”  
  
“Birds, right. We used them in the mines. I thought that was cruel, but I was a child then. When we took over the mines, I used canaries like my master had.”  
  
He actually looks sad for a moment, and when he draws Chekov against his chest, Chekov slumps there gladly, closing his eyes. He likes the way Hikaru smells, which is like his own Hikaru coupled with extravagant spices from the bath and the heat of those cigarettes. He's half asleep by the time Hikaru reaches over to the bedside table with a groan and opens the top drawer.  
  
“I think you've earned this,” he says, and Chekov sits back, blinking sleepily. He laughs when Hikaru snaps a collar around his neck, delirious.  
  
“Hooray,” he says dryly, giving Hikaru a look. Hikaru grins and adjusts the collar. It's black leather, unadorned, but Chekov feels as if it's burning Hikaru's initials into his skin. It's not painful, not too tight, but it's a powerful symbol, and it makes him feel itchy.  
  
“Lie down,” Hikaru commands, and Chekov doesn't hesitate. He's still familiar with the paddle, and now with a few other instruments of punishment, the worst of them a whip that he earned by pushing Hikaru away one morning when he was still half-asleep.  
  
When Chekov is on his back Hikaru leans up over him on one elbow and surveys him, first with his eyes, then with his hand. He touches Chekov's hair, strokes his cheek, runs his fingers down over Chekov's neck and over the collar, making him shiver. He plays with Chekov's nipples for a long time, watching his face and the twitch of his shoulders. Chekov is hard, his legs spreading a little. Hikaru always touches him like this in the morning, but sometimes at night he'll just bathe Chekov and go to sleep, exhausted from whatever it is he does on the ship all day. Sometimes he makes Chekov go to bed hard, and Chekov is high enough to hope that this won't be one of those nights. He spreads his legs wider, and Hikaru laughs, his hand sliding down lower, over Chekov's stomach.  
  
“My life has been better since you came,” Hikaru says. “And you still want to go away from me, don't you?”  
  
“Yes,” Chekov says. “Please. I can't live like this forever.”  
  
“I know. But for tonight, ask me some other favor. I'm feeling charitable. What would you like me to do to you?” Hikaru rests his heavy palm over the bulge of Chekov's cock, and Chekov sighs. He knows Hikaru wants him to ask to be fucked. He's been thinking about what it would feel like: a warm, hard cock inside him rather than the unforgiving plastic of the dildos, Hikaru moving into him not with his wrist but with his hips.  
  
“Blow me,” Chekov says. Hikaru has only done it twice, mostly to demonstrate how it should be done on him. Hikaru grins and leans down to kiss him. Chekov has come to crave these kisses like conversation at the end of the day, warm and almost sweet. They make him feel human.  
  
Hikaru does as Chekov asked, pulling off the underwear but leaving the knee socks on. He drapes Chekov's legs over his shoulders and swallows him to the root, making Chekov moan and writhe as he pulls handfuls of the sheets into his fists. He's never been in Hikaru's mouth after Hikaru has smoked, and it feels almost too intense to take, the tingling heat on his lips and tongue. He doesn't dare to buck his hips, not wanting to go to bed with a freshly paddled ass, but he does pull on Hikaru's hair a little when he comes, holding his head in place, making him drink it all down.  
  
He's still shuddering with pleasure as Hikaru crawls up to cover him with the shadow of his body, and he can feel Hikaru's heavy erection dragging against his thigh. He'd like to be fucked now, relaxed and hazy after his orgasm, his ass feeling too empty. Still, he won't give Hikaru the satisfaction of even asking, let alone begging, so he just takes hold of Hikaru's cock and jerks him dry, then licks the come from his hand, getting every drop as Hikaru watches, his eyes dark, lids heavy.  
  
“Goodnight,” Hikaru says stiffly, rolling away from Chekov. The lights go down and the room glows dim red around them, too quiet. Chekov tries to be glad for the opportunity to sleep without Hikaru's heat all around him, making him sweat, but in the middle of the night he finds Hikaru's back and glues himself to it.

*

Chekov demands progress reports on Hikaru's research on how to get Chekov back to his own world, and is always surprised when Hikaru provides them. He's fairly brilliant, and Chekov fills in the gaps with his own knowledges of physics and transport and alternate universes where he can, but they've still got a long way to go, and sometimes Chekov feels hopeless. Hikaru indulges his moods, letting him sulk in bed some evenings, but never in the morning. The mornings belong to Hikaru, and under the sleep-warm blankets, Chekov belongs completely to Hikaru. He wishes Hikaru would fuck him, but he's even stopped stretching Chekov with dildos. Chekov knows why, and he won't beg, even as he clenches up as tightly as he can around three of Hikaru's fingers, wanting more.  
  
He's expected to obey Hikaru not only in bed, but in others humiliating ways. He lights Hikaru's cigarettes for him and sometimes is expected to lie across the hard wooden table in the dining area and act as a human plate. He wears a cock ring all day, as if he would be jerking off nonstop without the thing, which is programmed to unlock only when it recognizes Hikaru's finger prints. The collar is always on, and his underwear is selected daily by Hikaru, sometimes featuring weird accessories, laces that crisscross his cock like the back of a corset or a built-in butt plug that he'll grind down onto in frustration while Hikaru is gone. He has dreams of getting fucked, finally giving up that thing that so many people have wanted, some badly enough to try to take it from him by force. In the dreams he cries because he still can't feel it, not really, that incredible fullness in his ass that Hikaru taught him to appreciate when he trained him on the dildos.  
  
“Let me do yours now,” Chekov says one evening in the bath as Hikaru is rinsing the shampoo from his hair, thinking maybe he can charm Hikaru into throwing him onto his stomach and fucking him. Hikaru looks bored by the suggestion, but he drags on his cigarette and lets Chekov wash his hair. Hikaru's hair is incredibly silky, just like the real Hikaru's has always looked, tempting enough to make Chekov want to run his fingers through it.  
  
“When I get back to my own world,” Chekov says as he massages Hikaru's scalp, “I am going to let my Hikaru fuck me so very hard. I think he wants to, looking back on it, thinking about how I would catch him staring, and how he would 'accidentally' fall asleep in my bed. And I wanted him, too, so much, though I wouldn't let myself know it. I was traumatized by people who overpowered me, afraid to want anything like that, afraid it would be frightening like it was when they tried to force me. But now I know – I want _my_ Hikaru to overpower me, to pin me to the bed, pull my thighs apart and push himself inside me, because he's the one who waited, someone who truly respects me.”  
  
He rinses Hikaru's hair clean, expecting to be grabbed and thrown over the side of the tub for a hand-to-ass spanking any moment, but when he slides into Hikaru's lap again, Hikaru is smiling.  
  
“Beg harder,” he says.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Chekov asks, blushing. “I'm serious. If you'll really let me leave here without taking me against my will, I'm going to give my virginity to that Hikaru.” He puts his lips against this Hikaru's ear. “It's going to feel so, so good for him, so incredibly tight, that first push, and just knowing that he's the first one inside me, that I am brand new for him.”  
  
Hikaru smirks and him and shakes his head. Chekov is trembling with frustration. He wonders if he would have to consider it a failure of will if he begged to at least have a dildo inside him again. He's searched for them during the day while Hikaru is gone, but they're well-hidden. He's come close to picking one of the cucumber-sized fruits from the tree Hikaru keeps in the back corner of the room and fucking himself on it, but he still has some pride.  
  
The next morning, Chekov wakes up and rolls onto his back, spreading himself for Hikaru as he leans over him. Hikaru is tired at first, as usual, giving Chekov nothing but hot kisses, licking against his tongue, the roof of his mouth, across his bottom lip. Chekov is tired, too, but his cock is very hard, as it always is in the morning, ready for attention. Hikaru strokes Chekov's chest lazily, not lingering long enough on his nipples.  
  
“I've got to go,” Hikaru says then, rolling away.  
  
“What?” Chekov sits up on his elbows, watching Hikaru stretch and head for his dresser. “So early?”  
  
“Sorry, rosebud, but things on the ship have been a little rocky. I need to put in some overtime.”  
  
Chekov wonders if he should risk the punishment that a quick beat off would earn, because he can't wear a cock ring all day without even being allowed to come _once_. Usually Hikaru gives him at least two orgasms under the blankets in the morning, easing him into a second sleep and holding him for awhile before leaving for his shift. He's too panicked at the thought of Hikaru leaving immediately like this to even be inspired to touch his cock now.  
  
“Don't worry,” Hikaru says with a laugh as he pulls on his shirt. “I won't make you wear the ring. Just take care of yourself today, alright, and don't wait up, because I'll probably be back late. You can take your bath alone.”  
  
“Wha—” Chekov starts to say, but he's got no idea how to continue. His every move has been decided for him by Hikaru for well over a month now, and he can hardly imagine bathing without sitting in Hikaru's lap, watching Hikaru's hands move on his skin. He feels abandoned, and ridiculous, because he should be glad for this time alone. But he's so incredibly alone here all the time that independence is not something he craves. He gives Hikaru a stunned, open-mouthed look when Hikaru walks over to kiss his forehead, not even lingering to look into Chekov's eyes.  
  
“Be good,” Hikaru says, and then he's gone.  
  
Chekov wonders if Hikaru is getting tired of him. Will he find a new pet? He actually feels tearful at the thought, and hides under the blankets to chew away his anxious sobs. This is what this monstrous Hikaru has turned him into, intentionally. He wants Chekov to feel completely reliant on him, to crave his touch, to want to be fucked by him, claimed and cared for. Chekov refuses to play along. He takes a deep breath and throws the blankets away. He puts on his knee socks and a pair of simple black leather briefs, then settles in to work on their calculations for his departure. How disappointed Hikaru will be when he returns to see that Chekov is too busy with his work to even acknowledge his entrance!  
  
This attitude lasts for approximately three hours. Chekov eats from the replicator – it's so strange to choose his own food that it takes him ten minutes to even think of something he wants to order – paces the room, bathes, then tries on some new underwear, modeling them in front of Hikaru's full length mirror, sticking his ass out, posing for himself. He catches his eyes in the mirror and his blood boils with angry embarrassment, so he heads back to the desk, but the calculations are just as frustrating as they were when he last looked at them. He's never studied or even heard rumors of this kind of transporter malfunction happening, and he's got no idea where to begin to correct it, even with all of the physics theory worked out. He pushes his notes away and goes to the plant in the corner.  
  
An hour later, he's sobbing on the floor, a cucumber-sized fruit stuck in his ass.  
  
He tries everything to get it out before Hikaru can return to find him in this state, but his fingers are still slippery from the lube he used, and the rounded end of the fruit keeps evading his grip. Finally he eschews embarrassment and counts the seconds until he finally hears Hikaru keying his code into the door outside. Chekov is kneeling on the floor, naked except for his knee socks and collar, his face puffy and splotchy with tears. His ass is throbbing around the cucumber, which has been in him for over two hours now, his hole raw and sore from his attempts to get it out. Hikaru stands and stares at him for a moment, taking a deep breath.  
  
“Someone got in here,” he says, and Chekov recognizes the look on his face as white hot rage. “Someone hurt you.”  
  
“No,” Chekov sobs, wondering if he should have lied to save face. He shakes his head and puts his hands over his eyes. “Hikaru,” he says, the name wrenching out of him with another sob. “I did something bad.”  
  
“Oh.” Hikaru lets out his breath, sounding more relieved than angry. He looks around the room, and Chekov can feel the air change when his eyes come to rest on the leaves that have fallen at the base of the fruit planet.  
  
“Jesus,” Hikaru says, glaring at him. “I might have known.”  
  
“Help me,” Chekov begs, crying hard now. “It hurts – oh, please, I can't get it out!”  
  
“You stubborn little monster,” Hikaru says, hoisting Chekov up and tossing him face-first onto the bed. “You'd rather suffer like this than let _me_ make you feel good?”  
  
“Please,” Chekov cries, feeling like he'll melt from humiliation as Hikaru pulls his ass cheeks apart to look for the cucumber. Chekov doesn't even know the proper name for the fruit, but he'll never go near an actual cucumber again, even if it's been diced into tiny pieces.  
  
“Goddammit,” Hikaru mutters. “I'm going to have to pull you open pretty wide to get a grip on it. Try to relax.”  
  
Chekov is the furthest thing from relaxed that he's ever been, his whole body twitching with sobs and the sheets on the bed clutched in his fists.  
  
“Shh,” Hikaru says, sighing. “I think I know how to do this. Just stay still, and stop getting so damn worked up. You're going to be fine.” He rubs a hand over the small of Chekov's back, then walks to the cabinet where he keeps all of his sex toys and costumes.  
  
When he returns, Chekov dares a look at what he's taken from the cabinet. It's a small, black circle with what looks like a crank attached. Hikaru places it on the bed and goes to the replicator for a pair of plastic tweezers, something Chekov already tried while he was gone. It resulted in nothing more than pain when Chekov tried it, but he trusts Hikaru to save him from this misery, and goes limp with resignation on the bed, sniffling and wiping at his face.  
  
“This is going to hurt – shit, look how sore you've already made yourself. You could have called for me, you know.”  
  
Chekov huffs at the idea that he would have. _Master, could you please return? I've got a piece of fruit stuck up my ass_. He starts crying again, for what his life has become.  
  
“Just take deep breaths,” Hikaru says. “I'd give you a painkiller, but I think there's a lesson to be learned here. Every time it hurts, remember that it's your stupid pride that cost you your comfort.”  
  
Chekov curses Hikaru in his mind as he inserts the separator. It hurts a little at first because of how tender he is around his rim, but he's already open fairly wide. It's not until Hikaru starts cranking the little knob that spreads the separator wider that Chekov begins to scream.  
  
“Go ahead and let it out,” Hikaru says. He sounds a little sick himself, as if he's not enjoying this, which registers with dull surprise in Chekov's pain-wracked mind. By the time Hikaru has the tweezers inside him, gripping the slippery end of the lube-coated fruit, Chekov is keening deliriously, the pain flowing through him like a fast rushing river, making him choke for breath.  
  
“There we go,” Hikaru says as he pulls the fruit out, and the relief is such that for a second Chekov thinks he might actually come, but his dick is soft against his belly. Hikaru quickly unwinds the separator before removing it, and Chekov cries with relief, though his hole is still incredibly sore and feels uncomfortably hollow.  
  
“I don't even know what to tell you,” Hikaru says as he disposes of the fruit in the dissentigrator. Chekov wanted to chop it into a million pieces to punish it for what it did to him, but he's just glad it's gone. He's exhausted on the bed, panting, his skin flushed with burning humiliation, sheened with sweat.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Chekov cries, and it's true. He tries to muster up some hate for this Hikaru, because it's all his fault, all of it, but he can only pray that Hikaru won't leave again anytime soon.  
  
“I'll bet you are,” Hikaru says. “And so much for that tight virgin ass you were saving for your prince Hikaru back home, Jesus.”  
  
“I'm ruined,” Chekov says, sobbing. “You might as well fuck me now.”  
  
“Oh, be quiet.” Hikaru lifts Chekov off the bed and carries him into the bathroom. He runs a bath, making the water cooler than usual, and undresses himself while Chekov sits shivering at the edge of the bath.  
  
“It's not fair,” Chekov says, sniffling. “What you've done to me. It's manipulative. It's not real.”  
  
“Reality is relative,” Hikaru says with a snort. “Get in the damn bath.”  
  
Hikaru doesn't smoke, and doesn't spend long, languid minutes rubbing his soapy hands over Chekov's skin. He cleans Chekov efficiently, hushing him when he winces at the pain in his ass, then holds him against his chest as they soak in the lukewarm water.  
  
“I need it,” Chekov finally says, his voice tiny. “You made me need it.”  
  
“You always needed it,” Hikaru says. He lifts his hand and rubs cool water onto the back of Chekov's neck, which is still burning with humiliation. “I just showed you how to want it.”  
  
“Nothing you say makes sense,” Chekov says sleepily. He closes his eyes and lets out a long, shuddering breath, pressing his face to Hikaru's neck. Hikaru's heartbeat is a calming, powerful sound, like hearing the waves from inside a cozy beach front bedroom.  
  
“You don't make much sense yourself,” Hikaru says as he lifts Chekov out of the bath.  
  
That night, Chekov sleeps deeply, on his stomach with Hikaru wrapped around him, lying halfway on top of him, his arm around Chekov's shoulders and one leg pushed across the backs of Chekov's thighs. He feels safe, and healed, and is tired of fighting such feelings. He's sore again in the morning, and glad, for once, when Hikaru doesn't go anywhere near his ass. He eases Chekov up onto his hands and knees and prompts him to suck his cock, and Chekov does it happily, pleased when Hikaru comes faster than he usually does, not because it means he can stop but because it means Hikaru felt it, too, how much Chekov enjoyed making him feel good. He licks his lips clean and crawls up to collapse against Hikaru's heaving chest.  
  
“Good boy,” Hikaru says softly as he rubs his fingers over Chekov's back, and the words mean a lot. Hikaru stays with him for most of the day, and Chekov sleeps through much of it, clinging to him. When he wakes he finds Hikaru frowning at his PADD, sending messages that Chekov reads over his shoulder. Chekov nibbles on Hikaru's ear while he works, and Hikaru doesn't indulge his attempts to distract him, but doesn't push him away.  
  
They live like this for a few days, quiet and close. When Hikaru has to leave the room for work, Chekov keeps himself busy with reading about the history of the universe he's found himself in from a datapad Hikaru leaves him. It's frightening stuff, but he begins to see the similarities between this place and his home, the shared undercurrents that are not suppressed here. He reads about the concubine culture and how some children are raised to be cultured sex slaves, and finds one record of a litichult mine on a planet in a galaxy called B98U7 that was taken over by the children who once worked it for a man who had purchased them. He can't find anything on the name Hikaru Sulu, and he wonders if names are like currency here, things that have value as secrets.  
  
When Hikaru returns to the room Chekov is attentive, making him the tea he likes and kneeling between his legs to suck his dick while Hikaru reclines in his favorite chair, sipping tea and sighing with satisfaction as Chekov laps at his cock. Chekov squirms a little as Hikaru pets his hair, his ass clenching inside his leather underwear.  
  
“Hikaru?” he says, looking up, Hikaru's cock wet and pressed against his cheek. Hikaru is relaxed, melted back into his chair with the empty tea cup balanced on his stomach. He opens his eyes and looks down at Chekov, stroking his cheek with the back of one finger.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“You could put it in me,” Chekov says, giving Hikaru's shaft a teasing little lick. “I want you to.”  
  
He expects Hikaru to gloat and grin, but he just keeps rubbing Chekov's cheek, looking a little sad.  
  
“Go ahead, then,” Hikaru says. “Beg for my cock. Convince me that you deserve it.”  
  
“I don't deserve it,” Chekov says, shaking his head, and he's not just bullshitting; it feels true. “But I want it, Hikaru, so much. I dream about having you inside me, about being stretched and filled, how good it would feel. I know I'm not as tight as I should be for you, but please, I want you to use my body to feel good, I want to feel your come inside me, I need it.”  
  
Hikaru is quiet for a few minutes, studying him, his eyelids lowered.  
  
“Lick my boots,” he says, his voice low and serious. “And I'll think about it.”  
  
Chekov has never been given this order before, but he doesn't hesitate, bathing Hikaru's black boots with his tongue, shuddering with pleasure for the chance to do even this. He's not sure when it happened, during some quiet moment in the past few days, maybe when Hikaru squeezed his hip after dressing him or had him open his mouth so he could press a sweet-tasting flower petal onto his tongue, but he feels the way he always feared he might, like he worships this man who lets him lick his boots, who comes through the door of this room like the sun rising, and who holds him against his heartbeat while he sleeps.  
  
“Enough of that,” Hikaru says, and Chekov pops up, sitting back on his knees, his hands folded over them. Hikaru takes a deep breath and lets it out, his red, full cock moving with it, his legs spread, boots wet from Chekov's tongue.  
  
“Alright,” Hikaru says. “Go get on the bed. Collar and cock ring, nothing else.”  
  
Chekov strips off his underwear and knee socks, placing them neatly on the bench at the end of the bed before clambering up onto the sheets. He crawls over to the bedside table and pulls out his cock ring, plain black to match his collar. It feels good to lock it around his already-throbbing cock, because it's what Hikaru wants, and that's all Chekov needs, to do whatever Hikaru wants him to. He leans back on the pillows and reaches down to pull his knees to his chest, keeping them pressed together, hugging them, hoping he looks cute. Hikaru comes to stand beside the bed and watches him for awhile.  
  
“Hey,” Hikaru says. “What if. What if I told you I'd figured out a way to send you home?”  
  
“I knew you would,” Chekov says, lowering his legs slowly, putting his feet against the mattress with his knees still bent. Hikaru sniffs.  
  
“I'm not saying I actually have yet,” he says. “I'm just – if I had, and I told you that you could go home now, would you go?”  
  
Chekov thinks seriously about the question, wondering if Hikaru really is being hypothetical. He's been staying up late working on something lately, and Chekov has suspected that it's his escape plan. The situation outside this room has grown unstable, blasts rocketing against the hull of the ship from time to time.  
  
“I'd still want you inside me,” Chekov says. “Right now, please.”  
  
“What about that schmuck in your world?” Hikaru asks, kneeling on the bed. “The one without the scar. Doesn't he deserve you more than I do?”  
  
“Maybe,” Chekov says, though when he thinks of that Hikaru he feels like he's only ever been a figment of Chekov's imagination. “But I'm still yours.”  
  
Hikaru opens a new jar of lube for the occasion, something that looks special and smells wonderful. He leans up over Chekov, and Chekov moans when Hikaru's slick finger breaches him for the first time in what feels like years. He hopes he feels tight, wants to be so tight for Hikaru.  
  
“You haven't just gone out of your mind, have you?” Hikaru asks as he scissors his fingers gently, making Chekov arch and pant.  
  
“Isn't that the very definition of what you wanted from me?” Chekov says, and Hikaru smirks.  
  
“Okay, fine,” he says, kissing Chekov's jaw. “Seems like you're still in there somewhere.”  
  
They both hold their breath as Hikaru lines up with Chekov's entrance, their eyes locked. Hikaru's hands are massaging Chekov's open thighs, making him feel crazy with need as the leaking head of Hikaru's cock teases against Chekov's hole.  
  
“You should know,” Hikaru says. “There's another reason I haven't – I didn't – another reason I waited. I haven't, ah. Done this myself. Ever.”  
  
Chekov's eyes shoot open, and nervous laughter bubbles up in his chest, but he swallows it down, because Hikaru doesn't seem to be joking. It's impossible, but his expression is grave and serious, and his eyes are open to Chekov in the low light of the room, offering him something he's never given to anyone else.  
  
“But –” Chekov says.  
  
“I've had it done to me, of course,” Hikaru says sharply. “But I never – I hated it, so. I didn't want to be that particular kind of monster. Maybe I failed sometimes, but this was the one thing I wouldn't – I wanted someone to really want it. Do you really want it?”  
  
Chekov nods slowly, processing this. Hikaru was so obsessed with making him want it that he became the sort of person who once owned him. Maybe he realizes that now. Chekov opens his knees wider. He didn't think he could possibly want Hikaru more than he already did, but he does, he wants him so badly now, his skin on fire with it.  
  
“Please,” he says. He holds his arms out. “Come here.”  
  
Hikaru slides in with a low moan, and Chekov loses his voice entirely for the feeling, can't speak. It's nothing like the dildos or the stupid cucumber, or even like Hikaru's thick fingers. Hikaru is taking deep, measured breaths as he works himself in, and Chekov can feel it all through him, that connection, the slight, invisible shudder in Hikaru's body. He wraps Hikaru into his arms as they lock together fully, Hikaru pushed in to the hilt, Chekov's legs clamping around his back. Hikaru's breath is in Chekov's ear, and his shuddering is growing stronger.  
  
“Fuck,” he says softly, and Chekov nods in agreement, stroking him. He squeezes around Hikaru's cock and they both groan. Hikaru's hands loop behind Chekov's neck, and Chekov lets his head fall back as Hikaru kisses his throat, licking and biting, his hips just beginning to twitch. Chekov didn't think it would be like this at all. He thought he would be fucked hard, brutally, and maybe he wanted that, because this is far more terrifying.  
  
“I – didn't,” Hikaru stutters, lifting his head to look down into Chekov's eyes. “Didn't think you'd be this tight.”  
  
Chekov clenches around him, watching Hikaru's eyelids lower further, his lips parting a bit more widely.  
  
“I wanted to be tight for you,” he whispers. “Fuck that tightness, Hikaru. Open me.”  
  
It's so distracting, watching this measured, smirking Hikaru fall apart with pleasure, and Chekov almost ignores how good he feels himself, only half-hearing the crazed little noises that Hikaru is fucking out of him, the shouts and the begging Russian words, his hands scrabbling over his chest while Hikaru grunts and fucks him hard, holding his legs apart. Neither of them lasts long, but Hikaru makes sure Chekov comes first, taking the cock ring off and whipping it away so that it bounces wildly across the room. Chekov comes at the first rough tug on his dick, arching and clamping down on Hikaru's cock inside him, Hikaru's scream like part of Chekov's own orgasm, a thing he feels in his bones. Hikaru falls forward as he pumps Chekov full, sounding amazed and frightened, his mouth open on Chekov's jaw.  
  
He doesn't pull out right away, just rolls onto his side, bringing Chekov with him. Chekov winds his leg around Hikaru's waist to keep them more snugly locked together, and nuzzles at Hikaru's sweaty face until he finally meets Chekov's eyes. Hikaru slides his hand over Chekov's cheek, stroking his open lips with his thumb, and Chekov licks at it, smiling, satisfied.  
  
“I should tell you my other secret,” Hikaru says, his voice deep with exhaustion, breath still coming hard. “So you'll know everything.”  
  
“Okay,” Chekov says, charmed by the idea that this is some kind of ritual, wondering what secret he could tell Hikaru in exchange. He feels like he doesn't have any of those anymore, and it's nice, living naked like this, no anxious pride to protect.  
  
“Kirk was a slave, too,” Hikaru says. “We went to the same school, and we were purchased by the same man. Kirk is brilliant, and deadly, and I'm not exactly sure how he managed to take over this ship, but as soon as I found out about it, I blackmailed him into giving me the security position. No one else here knows he was raised to be a concubine. They'd lose all respect for him if they did, because he's claimed to be the son of some tyrant. It's why I can get away with challenging him, because I know he was a slave.” Hikaru pulls out of Chekov then, slowly, drawing a little whine from him. Chekov is a bit sore, but it's almost a pleasant burn, a little reminder.  
  
“I guess everyone comes away from that experience having learned different lessons,” Hikaru says. He draws Chekov against him, hugging him to his chest. “The way Kirk treats his slaves – that's the type of revenge he wants on the universe. This is mine.” Hikaru kisses Chekov's hair.  
  
“You are not so different from my Hikaru,” Chekov says. “If he had been – when he was just a child – he might have turned out just like you.” Chekov thinks of what he would be like if he'd been raped at the Academy. Different, he'd be so different. And he's different because of what this Hikaru has put him through, but in the aftermath of what just happened, he can't decide if it's for better or worse.  
  
“I think that's the answer to our problem,” Hikaru says, tipping Chekov's chin up to his. “We haven't been looking at this as a simple alternate reality. We've approached it as a different universe, but it's the same universe, just – one butterfly too many beat its wings back in the day.” He strokes his fingers over Chekov's jaw, watching his eyes fill with tears as he realizes that Hikaru is right.  
  
“Then it will be easy,” Chekov says. “Sending me back.”  
  
Hikaru says nothing, just studies Chekov for awhile, as if he knows this will be the last time he holds him. Chekov moans and presses himself to Hikaru's chest, his leg wrapping around Hikaru's waist again.  
  
“You don't want to stay here,” Hikaru says, answering a question Chekov didn't want to ask out loud.  
  
“Come with me, then,” Chekov says. “I can teach you how to live in my world the way you taught me to live in yours.”  
  
“I'd be a bull in a china shop,” Hikaru says with a snort. “I'd smash it all to bits in an hour.”  
  
“That's not true. Please, just come with me. I want you to see – to understand what it's like, not to have to treat people the way you – thought you had to treat me.”  
  
“No, it'd be a lie,” Hikaru says. “And it would probably fuck up the whole experiment. Plus, hey. What about your Hikaru, this guy who loves you?”  
  
“You love me, too,” Chekov says softly. “Don't you?”  
  
“It doesn't work that way here.”  
  
“Doesn't work – what way?”  
  
“We don't love things here, we want them. I want you. I want you to stay with me, but I won't let you.” Hikaru sits up and scrubs his hands over his face as if bringing himself out of a dream. “I'm going to finish those calculations now. You can help if you want.”  
  
“Wait,” Chekov says, but Hikaru ignores him. Chekov misses the heat of his body under the blankets like a limb that just got lobbed off, and he curls up angrily, trying not to cry. It's easier than he expected, holding the tears back, or easier than it used to be.  
  
Hikaru works on the calculations for hours, naked at the desk, frowning down at his conclusions. Chekov watches him, knowing that it's true, that he can't stay here. He doesn't buy what Hikaru said about not coming back, though. Chekov could teach him how to be fully human, and having two Hikarus in one reality won't spoil anything when it comes to the fabric of space and time – they've already got two Spocks in his.  
  
He dozes off, and wakes to the sound of water running in the bathroom. Stretching and yawning, he rolls out of bed and walks to the bathroom, where the lights are down low, Hikaru sitting alone in the tub, lighting a cigarette.  
  
“May I join you?” Chekov asks, walking forward timidly. Hikaru looks at him and blows smoke, his head tipping back onto the rim of the tub.  
  
“If you want.”  
  
It's like Chekov doesn't belong to him anymore; when did Hikaru make that decision? Chekov isn't sure how he feels about this. Uncomfortable, mostly, unsure. These are the same reasons he never made a move on his Hikaru back home, even when they woke up in bed together and smiled at each other sleepily.  
  
Chekov slips into the bath and sits in Hikaru's lap, begging with his eyes to be touched. Hikaru slides one wet hand up over Chekov's back, and Chekov relaxes a little, leaning against Hikaru's chest, his head going to Hikaru's shoulder. He accepts the cigarette when it's offered, taking a long drag.  
  
“Did you finish the calculations?” Chekov asks.  
  
“Yep. Should be able to send you back tomorrow, when Kirk's off shift. He's really gunning for me lately. If I'm dead he doesn't have to worry about getting exposed, or so he thinks. Unfortunately for him, I've rigged a message about his colorful personal history to go out to everyone on board in the event of my death. It's attached to my vital monitors. If my heart stops beating, the program I wrote sends the message out.” He grins when Chekov looks up at him with a pout. “Pretty good, huh?”  
  
“It would work even if you transported to my reality with me,” Chekov says. “For purposes of this universe, your vital monitors would not register a heartbeat. So come, please. I don't want to leave you alone here.”  
  
Hikaru laughs under his breath and takes another drag on the cigarette. Chekov wants to touch his scar, to show him that it's not as ugly as he thinks, that it wouldn't prevent him from having a good life the way the person who gave it to him intended.  
  
“We'll see,” Hikaru mutters, and Chekov kisses his neck, filled with hope. “What's Kirk like in your universe?”  
  
“Brilliant and kind, a great leader, very fair. Also with a checkered past, I think,” Chekov says, and Hikaru laughs.  
  
They have sex again after the bath, Chekov in Hikaru's lap, bouncing on him as slowly as he can, trying to savor the feeling of that thick cock sliding in and out of him, afraid that it could be the last time. Their calculations could be wrong; they could both die tomorrow, vaporized by the transporter, or sent to someplace in space with no oxygen. Hikaru puts up with Chekov's languid movements for as long as he can, then grunts and grabs Chekov's hips, slamming up into him, pulling Chekov down hard. Chekov moans, set in motion easily by this treatment, pounding himself down onto Hikaru's cock until he's coming all over the bedsheets, untouched. Hikaru squeezes the air from his chest as he unloads inside him, bruising his ribs, as if he's trying to pull Chekov in between his own.  
  
They're drained afterward, but too nervous about the following day to fall right to sleep. Hikaru plays with Chekov's curls, and Chekov dares a few shaking fingers along Hikaru's scar, caressing the rough skin.  
  
“Why isn't there one of you here?” Hikaru asks. “Someone I could keep.”  
  
“Maybe he died before you could meet,” Chekov says, shivering at the thought. “But you can keep me, Hikaru. You can.”  
  
“That was stupid of me to say,” Hikaru says. “Nobody can keep anything. Not in your world, either, not if it's really a spin-off of this one.”  
  
“You're thinking too literally,” Chekov says. “There are ways to keep things in more than just a material sense.”  
  
“That's what you people tell yourselves, to make you feel better when you lose something.” Hikaru moans and rolls onto his back. “You should learn, like we have, that it's actually more comforting just to accept that you're not going to get to keep anything you want, not for long.”  
  
Morning comes, and they both wake instantly with the alarm Hikaru set, sliding out of bed without a word. Chekov's heart is pounding as he dresses in an ISS uniform that Hikaru replicated for him. He hasn't behaved like an officer for awhile, at least since he fought his way out of the clutches of Kirk and McCoy. He shudders to think of seeing the real ones if he does manage to get back safely. It's even stranger to think of seeing his Hikaru, especially if this one comes back with him.  
  
“Stay close until we get to the transport room,” Hikaru says. “Then drop back when I send Monty away. As soon as he's gone, we'll lock down the room.”  
  
“And you'll come with me,” Chekov says, grabbing Hikaru's arms. “You will, won't you?”  
  
Hikaru smirks. “You just want to get me back there so you can put me on trial under your world's laws, don't you? Get me back for making you a slave?”  
  
“No!” Chekov says, not sure if Hikaru is joking or being serious. “You can't be held responsible in one universe for what you did in another. We were never supposed to meet, but you saw something in me that made you want to protect me. You changed me, but I changed you, too. Can't you admit to that?”  
  
“I don't know, rosebud,” Hikaru says, tipping Chekov's chin up with his thumb. “You'd do better to convince me to come by telling me I'll still get to fuck you once we're back in happy fun land.”  
  
“Yes,” Chekov says, glowering at him. “You – I still – _mmpfh!_ ”  
  
Hikaru kisses him like it's the last time, and it might very well be. He still hasn't given Chekov an answer about coming back with him as they head out into the hallway. Hikaru has timed their excursion for a period when the halls are especially empty, but they do pass by a few officers, all of them meeting Hikaru's eyes with their identical steely expressions, revealing nothing. Chekov thinks about these people, alone in their rooms with their demons, afraid to every let anyone else in. It's such an awful, lonely world, and it's bled into him. He knows it will be awhile before he feels comfortable being alone again. He tells himself that he'll have this Hikaru with him, and, abruptly, the idea seems crazy. Hikaru will want to recreate the life they had together here, and Chekov won't be able to stomach it once he's back among his friends, reinstated as an officer, respected and safe to roam about the ship without fear of being attacked. Still, maybe they can incorporate some elements of what they have here: Chekov gets hard when he's spanked now, and loves the tight squeeze of a cock ring, the delicious humiliation of bending over to offer Hikaru his ass while wearing knee socks and nothing else. He's still got his collar on under his shirt.  
  
“Here we go,” Hikaru says when they reach the transport room. Scotty is the only one on duty, as planned. Chekov drops back and nods, holding Hikaru's gaze for a moment before he heads into the room and tells Scotty that he's needed on engineering deck 6. Scotty grumbles but complies, and Chekov shrinks back further as he passes, his nerves jerking with the memory of being struck by that agonizer. When Scotty is gone, Hikaru gives him the signal, and Chekov hurries into the transport room.  
  
“We'll have to enter the coordinates before we lock down,” Hikaru says, sitting down at the console. Chekov leans over his shoulder to examine it. It's like the one Chekov knows, the one he used to save his own Hikaru from falling to his death, but there are slight differences, and he's examining them curiously instead of keeping an eye on the door. Hikaru is too caught up in what he's doing to notice, his breath coming a bit fast as he plugs in the coordinates.  
  
Neither of them sees Kirk coming.  
  
Chekov is struck first, easily debilitated, falling to the floor with a scream. It was a short but powerful agonizer blast, and his skin is still crackling with it as Hikaru writhes against the floor beside him, trapped in the beam from Kirk's gun. He's not screaming, but his face is pinched up in raw pain as he fights it, his body twisting in unnatural ways while the agonizer holds him in its beam.  
  
“Hello there, boys,” Kirk says when he stops the agonizer, leaving Hikaru panting and twitching on the floor. Chekov crawls over to him, beginning to regain his strength but feigning weakness. He's got his knife in his boot, and he'd love to slice Kirk's right cheek open. He can see the scar he left on the other as he glares at Kirk, who is grinning.  
  
“Going somewhere?” he asks, approaching the transport. Hikaru is struggling to get up, but Kirk gives him a sharp kick to the ribs, cracking at least one of them as he knocks Hikaru down again. Chekov moans in sympathy and huddles around him, affecting some shivering to make Kirk think he's barely holding himself upright.  
  
“How stupid do you think I am, Hikaru?” Kirk asks. “You think I haven't been monitoring your every move since you brought this little traitor onto my ship? Trying to act like it was an accident, then like he was just a whore you bought – give me some fucking credit, please. I just didn't expect you to be cowardly enough to try to run away with him – decided you couldn't take the ship for yourself after all?”  
  
“I never wanted this fucking ship,” Hikaru says through gritted teeth, lifting his head to glare at Kirk. “I just wanted to do as I please on it, and that's what I've done, isn't it, _Jimmy_?”  
  
Kirk growls and kicks Hikaru's face now, the good side, without the scar. Chekov shouts and cradles Hikaru as he hisses in pain, understanding suddenly: one of Hikaru's rivals cut his face. He knew Kirk when they were both concubines. Kirk was the one who gave him the scar, and Hikaru has devoted his whole life to tormenting him in return. He whines and curls around Hikaru. They're not going to get off easy. This Kirk looks like he's ready to torture them for years.  
  
“I should have slit your throat instead of your face, you used-up whore,” Kirk says, raising his agonizer again. “No matter. The both of you won't have an inch of skin that isn't sliced up by the time I'm done with you.”  
  
Chekov doesn't really expect the attack to work, but he has to try something. He lunges as if he has no real plan, only going for the knife when he's close enough to strike. Ironically, it was the real Kirk who taught him this desperate measure of attack: a quick, deep slice across the Achilles heel. Kirk screams, his agnonizer clattering to the ground, and Hikaru must have been pretending to be weaker than he was, too, because he leaps up and grabs the agonizer, kicking his leg out to connect with Kirk's stomach in the same motion. Kirk doubles over, and Chekov cuts his other ankle, blood squirting all over him as Kirk sinks to the floor.  
  
“Give me the knife,” Hikaru says when Kirk is doubled over in pain, cursing and spitting. Chekov passes it to him, wanting to run for the transport, to leave right now, but Hikaru seems to have other plans. He lifts Kirk's head and smiles at him cruelly, a bruise already beginning to darken on his non-scarred cheek.  
  
“You were so worried about being that nasty old shit's number one fuck toy,” Hikaru says, squeezing Kirk's chin in his hand. “That's what this ship is, too, Jimmy. You're the Empire's slut now. Congratulations. We all knew you'd go far in the world.”  
  
He lifts the knife, either to cut Kirk's other cheek or slice his throat; Chekov never gets to find out. Kirk growls and pulls a weapon from inside his belt, a compact little gun.  
  
It might be small, but it blows a pretty big hole in Hikaru's chest.  
  
“Ah!” Chekov screams, not wanting to believe the blood that's darkening Hikaru's red uniform shirt. Hikaru barely seems to notice at first, grunting and cutting Kirk's throat as if being shot was only a minor annoyance, an interruption in his train of thought. Kirk crumples to the floor, choking on his blood, dead in seconds, and only when Hikaru's eyes meet Chekov's does his face go white.  
  
“Oh,” Hikaru says, falling back, putting his hand over the gaping wound in his chest. “Shit.”  
  
“It's okay, it's okay!” Chekov says, frantic. Alarms have started to blare, and he can hear running in the hallways. “You'll come back with me, McCoy can fix you, he's very good in my world –”  
  
“Lock the door down!” Hikaru barks, and Chekov hurries to do it, jamming the button on the console that will seal off the room. The heavy door falls shut just as he hears security approaching, and they bang on it in frustration when Hikaru and Chekov are sealed inside. Chekov lets out his breath and turns to Hikaru.  
  
“Come on,” he says, trying not to look too closely at the wound, Hikaru's hand pressed over it as he tries to hold himself together. “I'll – I'll help you onto the platform.”  
  
“It's no good, rosebud,” Hikaru says, grinning as sweat begins to streak from his temples down to his chin. “I'm a goner, and even if I wasn't, they've set off the alarms. I'll have to enter an override and do the transport manually. You get on the platform. Hurry, before they shut the whole room down.”  
  
“I – no, are you – ”  
  
“Listen to me, Pavel!” Hikaru shouts. “Get on the fucking platform.” He groans and grabs the corner of the transport console, panting as he hoists himself up, the blood from his wound dumping down to soak the front of his pants.  
  
“Hikaru,” Chekov says, clutching at him, dizzy with confusion, the alarms blaring too loud to allow him to think straight.  
  
“Hurry!” Hikaru says, glaring at him. “We've got about five seconds until I bleed out or they shut the room down. Go!”  
  
Chekov whines and surges forward, because if they've got five seconds, he's going to use four of them to kiss Hikaru. He almost expects Hikaru to bite and spit and shove him away, but he doesn't, just opens his lips to push what's probably the only soft sound he's ever let himself make into Chekov's mouth, licking at Chekov like he's one last drink of cool water after a lifetime of thirst. Chekov pulls back and stares into Hikaru's eyes, the whole universe going quiet as he sees both of them there, and more, every Hikaru who could possibly exist, like the infinite representations of one divine concept.  
  
“Go,” Hikaru says, and Chekov obeys.  
  
He's barely set foot on the platform when he starts to beam, and he forgets to be afraid about where he might end up, just stares at Hikaru, broken into more pieces that the transporter could manage, wanting him to somehow be okay.  
  
*  
  
He arrives on the _Enterprise_ covered in blood and shaking too badly to stand, but he doesn't cry. People rush at him, and he tries to hear what they're saying. Scotty grabs his shoulders and shakes him happily, saying that everyone thought he was dead. Kirk is next, and Chekov flinches, then looks up into his captain's face and sees nothing resembling that other hateful man in his bright blue eyes. Kirk pulls him into a bear hug, laughing, and tells Scotty to send out a ship-wide communication, to tell everyone that Ensign Chekov is okay after all.  
  
“I mean, I think he is,” Kirk says, holding Chekov back. “He is kind of – soaked in blood.”  
  
“I noticed that, sir, but I didn't see any injuries.”  
  
“Is he, uh?” Kirk looks back and forth between Chekov and Scotty. “Talking?”  
  
“Not yet, sir.”  
  
“I'm talking,” Chekov says, and his voice sounds stronger than he expected it to. “I – I just came from – a sort of battle.”  
  
“But you're not hurt? Here, sit down.” Kirk leads Chekov over to Scotty's chair. “I think he might be in shock,” he says to Scotty, quietly. “Bones should be on his way – ah, there he is.”  
  
Just on the heals of McCoy is Hikaru. At the sight of him, Chekov's body jumps to attention like he's caught in an agnozier beam, though it only hurts for a second. Hikaru is panting like he ran the whole way here, but he walks into the room cautiously, his brows arching, his face just as clean and perfect as Chekov remembers. No scars.  
  
“Hikaru,” Chekov says, pulling out of McCoy's grip and flying to him. Hikaru moans and hurries forward, bracing himself for Chekov's leap into his arms. Hikaru is crying a little, mostly in his chest: deep, hidden sobs as he holds Chekov against him, lifting him off the floor. Chekov waits to cry, but the tears don't come. Maybe because he's still in shock, but it doesn't feel that way, even with his blood-drenched uniform leaving marks on Hikaru's gold shirt. He smiles against Hikaru's neck.  
  
“Thought you were dead,” Hikaru chokes out while everyone else holds back, giving them a moment.  
  
“I thought you were, too,” Chekov says, and his voice breaks, just a little.  
  
*  
  
There are tests and reports and a million interviews. Chekov describes what he can, but leaves a lot of things out. He already can't believe it was real, what he was forced to do, coerced to feel, and how much he still feels like he loves that man who died for him. He tells himself that it's mostly because he does love his Hikaru, and did even before his experience in that nightmarish alternate reality, but sometimes, late at night, with Hikaru sleeping in his arms, he knows that he really did love someone else, though it grew out of his love for this Hikaru who he can still hold.  
  
“So I kept you safe,” Hikaru says when they're in bed together. There was no question, when Chekov returned from the dead for Hikaru and Hikaru for Chekov, that they would spend another night apart. Their first time was frantic and sloppy, all groping and guttural moans, and Hikaru seemed surprised at first, but he fell into it easily, whispering _fuck, fuck_ in astonished pleas as Chekov touched him.  
  
“You did keep me safe.” Chekov hasn't told Hikaru everything. He will, maybe, eventually, but for now he just wants to linger in the glow of this Hikaru's perfect, tender love. “But you were a very different person, very hard at first. I think I showed you what you could be. The way you are here, for me.” He strokes Hikaru's face, and Hikaru grins, capturing Chekov's hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.  
  
“So weird,” he says. “And there was no you on that side?”  
  
“No me. Hikaru, I've told you all of this.”  
  
“I know, but. Damn. I just can't get my head around it, though I guess it shouldn't be that big of a revelation, since Spock met his – other self. I wish I could have actually seen mine.”  
  
Chekov hums, not sure now that this would have been such a good thing. He sucks two of Hikaru's fingers into his mouth, and Hikaru flushes. He still gets pink-cheeked at the sight of Chekov's desire, his hunger for Hikaru's body. It was always there, and they've talked about why Chekov held back: the attacks at the Academy, his unwillingness to trust anyone completely. Chekov's story is that the experience in the alternate universe helped him confront and deal with those issues, which is true. He's hesitated to explain exactly how because he doesn't think he could. It would sound horrifying out loud. Hikaru would have had to have been there, and he was, but he wasn't. _It's complicated_ , Chekov tells people, and they smile as if they could ever possibly understand how true this is.  
  
“Do you ever think you could spank me?” Chekov asks, and Hikaru bursts into nervous laughter, then calms himself when Chekov whines with embarrassment, grinning.  
  
“No, it's funny because – yeah.” Hikaru's blush deepens. “It's like, one of those things I never thought I'd have the nerve to ask anyone to do in bed. And you just – God, Pavel, fucking hell. You're perfect.” Hikaru kisses him, cupping his face in both hands. “Love you,” he says when he pulls back, sneaking a nervous look into Chekov's eyes.  
  
“Love you,” Chekov says back, tracing his finger over the place on Hikaru's cheek where he had his scar in the other universe. Hikaru shudders a little and presses his forehead to Chekov's.  
  
“This is weird, but I'm almost kind of glad I died in that other universe,” Hikaru says. “I'd hate to think of having six months with you and then losing you forever. And, I, if I'm honest – I'd hate to think of you bringing another me back here, having to share you with – myself.”  
  
“Mmm.” Chekov still has nightmares about Hikaru dying, and when he wakes up to this Hikaru petting him, whispering that he's okay, he's safe, he's so glad to be here, exactly where he ended up. Still, he misses those baths, those cigarettes, the way Hikaru would admire him when he first put on his underwear and knee socks.  
  
“Well, if another me came to the ship, I would share you,” Chekov says, though he's not sure this is true. “I would not have the heart to deny any Chekov his right to a Hikaru.”  
  
Hikaru laughs. “Like we're salt and pepper shakers or something,” he says. “But, see, that means there can only be two of us or the whole thing's screwed up.”  
  
“Perhaps you're right,” Chekov says. It's not as if he's worried about another Chekov showing up and staking a claim on Hikaru. The transporter malfunction was the first one of its kind, an extremely rare phenomenon, and Chekov has spent a good deal of time studying it with Scotty and Spock since he got back. The fact that it happened is almost an impossibility, and that's how it feel sometimes, when Chekov looks back on it: impossible, remote, just a dream.  
  
It's odd to think of it also as a gift, but that's what it's like as Hikaru settles against him in bed, or pulls him into his lap at the end of the day. It's the gift of things he already had, in the way that only an alternate universe could have shown him: strength, trust, sex, love, Hikaru.  
  
Most nights, he goes to sleep wondering how many people leave the most important parts of their experiences in space out of the official Federation reports. It's a disservice, maybe, but some things are too personal, and too inexplicable, to be entered into the record books. For Chekov this is embodied not in the dirtiest, most humiliating parts of what happened to him, but by those moments when he looked over his shoulder in the bath and Hikaru glanced up from his washing to give him a little smirk, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his hands soothing over Chekov's skin. It's something Chekov could never forget or recreate, the feeling he would get when Hikaru looked at him like that, and it makes the universe feel ultimately unknowable, because maybe a monster could have a soft touch, and a cigarette could heal you, and imprisonment could be freeing. None of it makes sense in this universe that feels like home, but it's an odd sort of comfort to know that, somewhere, maybe it does.  
  
  



End file.
